


Thursday’s Trewlove

by essexmermaid



Category: Endeavour (TV)
Genre: Consensual Sex, Drinking, F/M, Face Slapping, First Time Sex, Protective Fred Thursday, crush on Fred Thursday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-09
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-11-28 10:16:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20964890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/essexmermaid/pseuds/essexmermaid
Summary: Morse has something to say about it when his governor, Fred Thursday, falls for his young colleague Shirley Trewlove. But will Morse prevent true love from taking its course?





	1. Trewlove

Morse had invited his governor Detective Chief Inspector Thursday to join him after work for a drink. Thursday agreed, intrigued by the unusual fact the Morse had actually offered to buy him a pint. As they walked into the pub, Doctor DeBryn, their colleague the police pathologist, was at the bar ordering a round and greeted them warmly.

“Inspector,” he nodded. “Morse, what’s your poison?” DeBryn asked.  
Morse immediately accepted a drink from DeBryn and promptly forgot he’d offered to buy Thursday the first round.  
“That’s very kind Doctor. Mine’s a pint,” said Thursday, irritated that Morse had ducked out of buying his fair share yet again.

“They’re in the snug,” offered Max, pointing Morse to a quiet, private booth tucked out of sight.  
“Who?” asked Morse, eyes narrowing.  
Max rolled his eyes in mild frustration.  
“You’ve forgotten haven’t you? We’re meeting Shirley to take her out for the evening. Jim’s already here.”  
Morse shrugged, too oblivious to be embarrassed, and carried his pint from the bar to go and meet Shirley and their friend Sergeant Jim Strange.

Max sighed with exasperation.  
“Forget his head if it weren’t screwed on,” he tutted. “We’d invited Constable Trewlove for a drink, just to get her out for the evening. She’s been spending rather too much time alone, in our humble opinion.”  
“Good idea, she could do with someone looking out for her.” replied Thursday warmly.

Constable Shirley Trewlove had been left to deal with the loss of her boyfriend, Constable George Fancy, when he was shockingly and cruelly shot dead in the line of duty. Being policemen, her colleagues’ first priority had been to find his killer, which they had done. Only now could they collectively turn their attentions to the grieving girl left behind.

“Your pint, Inspector,” said Max to Thursday. “You’re welcome to join us.”  
“Thanks I will. Join you that is,” said the Inspector thoughtfully. “And it’s Fred,” he added.  
“Max,” replied Max. He had always liked working with the gruff old copper who kept his wits about him and held his nerve no matter what the body count. Max was pleased at last to be on first name terms with Thursday and to get to know him better.

DeBryn and Thursday followed Morse into the snug where there was barely room for three people let alone four large men plus their guest. Trewlove was sitting in an upright settle behind a small table with three chairs crammed in on the other side. Jim Strange, already seated, attempted to stand to welcome Inspector Thursday whilst Morse had wriggled into the chair furthest from the bar.

“You’re alright, Jim,” murmured Thursday, putting a hand on the big Sergeant’s shoulder to stop him from giving up his seat.

Jim pulled out the last chair for Max, who had his hands full carrying the drinks from the bar, which he deposited on the table. Short of a chair, Thursday bent over the table to address Trewlove in light tone of voice.

“Room for a littl’un?” he asked playfully.  
“For you, of course!” Trewlove replied with a smile and scooted over a bit to give Thursday just enough room to sit down on the settle beside her.

For a big man, Thursday glided surprisingly gracefully into the small space, trying not to crowd Trewlove at his elbow.

Strange, Morse and DeBryn looked on as Thursday and Trewlove leaned in to chat together. Strange smiled indulgently, pleased to see his young friend become so relaxed in the company of a senior police officer. DeBryn watched carefully without appearing to, noting how comfortable together the two of them were. Morse simply concentrated on his beer.

After another round of drinks, Max understood that Trewlove wanted to talk only to Thursday and noted how she had turned in her seat to give him her undivided attention. The three younger men who had invited her out tonight were of no consequence to her right now. Max decided to give Thursday and Trewlove a bit of privacy for their conversation by announcing to Jim and Morse that the three of them were going to play darts round the corner in the main bar.

Morse grumbled but Jim thankfully agreed at once although it took him a minute to extract his bulk from behind the table in the confined space.  
“You joining us Shirl’?” asked Jim in a friendly manner.  
She hesitated, looking to Thursday for guidance. She didn’t want to appear rude.  
“She’s going to keep me company, aren’t you Constable?” Thursday answered for her, tapping her knee lightly to emphasise his point. Trewlove nodded and settled back in her seat.

With a bit of jostling the three men prized themselves out of the tight confines of the snug and left Thursday and Trewlove alone together. The snug was quite private, cut off from the rest of the pub, and very quiet. 

After a couple of minutes silence, Thursday playfully bumped his shoulder against hers.

“Penny for them?” he asked softly.  
Trewlove smiled weakly and leaned her shoulder into his.  
“They’ve been very kind, the boys,” she admitted. “They try to get me out, keep me company. But sometimes I just don’t feel like making too much of an effort, Sir. Sorry.”  
“Not a problem,” he let her know. “Name’s Fred. ‘Sir’ can wait for tomorrow at the station.”  
Shirley smiled wearily and slumped a bit further against his side.  
“Thankyou, Sss…Fred,” she managed.

“You look done in,” he noted quietly. “No need to be here if you’d rather not.”  
“I do like the company. It’s just that…just that…sometimes I just need a hug,” she said feebly, on the verge of tears.  
“Come here,” offered Thursday, raising his arm and drawing her in close.  
Trewlove sagged gratefully against his chest. They sat together for long time without saying anything.

Their comfortable silence was interrupted when Morse put his head into the tiny snug. Thursday noted the surprise on Morse’s face when he saw them cuddled together. Trewlove ducked her face lower to hide against Thursday’s broad front.

Morse made a wordless motion of tipping a glass to his mouth to enquire if they wanted a drink. Thursday shook his head and signalled silently at Morse who reeled back in surprise before slinking back to the main bar. Thursday had very clearly mouthed “Fuck Off!” at him.

When the others rejoined them later, still squabbling over a disputed final score, Thursday and Trewlove were sitting companionably side by side talking quietly. There was a further round of drinks and then they started making noises about going home.

Outside the pub, Morse and Strange headed off together after Thursday suggested he walk Shirley home. He gallantly offered her his arm and she linked hers through it, smiling. They strolled off towards her flat after saying their goodnights.

Max walked home alone, considering the evidence presented to him that night with a practised eye. Shirley’s subdued demeanour at first had changed to one of animation as soon as Thursday had sat by her, their private conversation with their heads close together to the exclusion of the others at the table, Thursday’s obvious attempts to be cheerful and entertaining for her benefit, the unforced laughter on both their parts, occasional slight physical touches. Max applied forensic logic and his keen mind to think about what he’d seen and came to a conclusion. If he weren’t mistaken, and he very rarely was, Max would deduce that he was watching two people falling in love.


	2. Fancy’s Photo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred Thursday, by being kind and thoughtful, helps Shirley Trewlove to deal with the death of George Fancy

Walking Trewlove back that evening after the darts match, Thursday found himself smiling with the pleasure of having this young woman on his arm. She seemed comfortable in his company, chatting quietly as far as the front door to her block of flats.

At the door, she gestured up to the first floor window to point out her flat then spontaneously invited Thursday in. He had no-one to rush home to, so he cautiously agreed to see her upstairs to her own door. They stepped through the big front door into a shared hallway and he followed her up the stairs to the first floor landing. 

Outside her own flat she turned to him and asked shyly “Want to come in?”

Thursday surprised himself by nodding and he followed her out of curiosity. He took off his hat and looked around the cramped bedsit as she shut the door, for it was only a single large room with a small bed, a tiny kitchenette and a table under the window. The bathroom was down the hall. There were quite a few personal possessions scattered about, making the room look lived in.

“Beer?” she asked, “I’ve got a couple of bottles of pale ale somewhere.”  
He nodded so she turned away to hunt for the bottle opener, two glasses and two bottles of beer. 

Thursday took a good look around while Trewlove was pouring their drinks.

A cheap tin photo frame caught his eye. He picked it up off the table and grimaced when he saw the photo it contained, a grainy picture cut out of a newspaper showing a very youthful George Fancy. Shirley came over to stand beside him. She looked over Thursday’s arm to smile sadly at George’s picture.

“He looks so young there, doesn’t he?” she asked, her voice low as if not to wake him from his final slumber.  
Thursday nodded and said sadly “He was.”  
“I miss him,” she said simply.  
“We all do, Shirley, we all do,” he replied heavily. Thursday once again lifted his arm for her to slip under as he had done in the pub.

Laying her head against his shoulder she began to speak the words she’d long had bottled up.  
“I did love him, you know. He was so sweet. He could be daft sometimes but he always made me laugh. He would have made a good policeman, don’t you think?” she sniffled.

But Thursday was thinking of a young life cut short and his own guilt in that terrible waste.  
“We let him down. I let him down,” ground out Thursday through clenched teeth.  
“No. No, it wasn’t your fault. It was that bastard, the corrupt copper who got him killed. George thought the world of you, you know.”  
“Did he?” asked Thursday wearily. “I don’t know how I deserved that.”  
She nodded against his lapel.

“You took the blame, though. That wasn’t fair.”  
Thursday looked down at her, leaning against him for support.  
“I was his senior officer. They wanted to make an example.”  
“Morse was his senior officer,” she pointed out without malice.  
“I was more senior. More of an example. Anyway that’s all in the past. Got reinstated eventually.” Thursday tried to put a brave face on the most hurtful episode of his police career.

Trewlove pushed herself away from him and went to sit in the sofa. He was drawn to her and sat beside her, shoulders leaning together, drinking their glasses of beer. They sat without talking for several minutes, each unwilling to say any more about their shared woe over the death of George Fancy, both thinking sadly of him.

“Won’t Mrs Thursday be expecting you?” she changed the subject eventually, to save dwelling on her loss, “You can’t ring from here I don’t have a phone.”  
Thursday took this as a hint.  
“I should be going,” he said, starting to hoist himself out of the seat.  
“No, no I wasn’t asking you to leave. I just meant to remind you to ring your wife.”  
Thursday slumped back and shook his head. He downed the remains of his beer.  
“She’s not at home,” he said unexpectedly,”She’s left me.”

And there it was out in the open at last, Thursday’s awful burden revealed. This young slip of a girl had wormed his way into his affections and he felt he could trust her with his darkest secret.

Shirley sighed sympathetically. She fetched him another beer. 

“You’d better tell me all about it,” she proposed.

Fred began to tell her the bare bones of his home situation, that he had disappointed his wife although he hadn’t explained quite how, that she had moved out to stay with her sister, and that she was asking for a divorce. He didn’t need to tell Shirley just how devastated he felt over his own folly and his bitterness at his own unintentional destruction of a lifetime’s love and partnership. Shirley was a patient and sympathetic listener while he bemoaned the state of his marriage.

And so they sat talking late into the night, two lonely people sharing their sorrows, and finding some comfort being with each other.

88888

The next day, Thursday, sat yawning at his desk, decided to run a personal errand. But first he rang his good friend Miss Dorothea Frazil, Editor of the Oxford Mail.

“Frazil,” she answered her phone.  
“Thursday,” he rejoined.  
“Ah Fred, what can I do for you?” she came straight to the point, a quality he admired in her.  
“Want to ask a personal favour. For a friend,” he replied.  
“I’ll do what I can, seeing it’s you,” she responded flirting a little.

Two hours later, Thursday was in Dorothea’s office accepting a brown paper envelope from her.  
“I should have thought of it myself,” she said wistfully. “But of course my excuse is that, as ever, there was too much going on.”  
“Never too late,” he offered.  
“It’s a copy of course, we have to keep the original on file, the one we used in the article. But the print room’s done a good job on it, printed it on glossy photographic paper so it should look very fine in a decent frame.”

They were both smoking, he his pipe and she a foul smelling Turkish cigarette. Both were busy professionals but were taking a rare break from work to enjoy spending a little time together that was not on official business. They were relaxed in one another’s company, knowing each other of old. In fact Fred had at one time saved Dorothea’s life by pulling he from a burning car, and she was eternally grateful to this brave man.

“It’s a very kind gesture you’re making,” she told him. “Not many hardened old coppers would take the trouble.”  
“Less of the old, thankyou,” he quipped.   
She huffed a laugh and took a strong drag on her cigarette. As she breathed out she was lost in a fog for a moment.  
“Is it getting any easier for her?” she mused. “I hope to God she finds someone who can comfort her, put it behind her and move on with her life.”  
Miss Frazil, used to the Inspector giving very little away, squinted at him through the smoke.  
“You’re being very thoughtful over this, Fred. I’m sure she’ll appreciate it. Very often it’s the ones left behind who find it a struggle.”  
“Least I can do,” he retorted.

Dorothea looked closely at her dear friend. She put her head on one side.  
“How’s things at home?” she asked directly.  
“She’s left me,” admitted Fred, knowing Miss Frazil would already have heard a rumour or she wouldn’t have asked.   
“I’m sorry Fred,” said Dorothea, meaning it.   
He shrugged helplessly.  
“Don’t be a stranger,” she urged him. “I’m here if you need to talk.”  
Fred nodded gratefully. There was nothing more to say.

Back at the station at the end of that same day, Thursday called Trewlove into his office. He handed her a small parcel to open. She unwrapped it carefully and when she saw what was inside, she held it to her heart and blinked at him through tear filled eyes. Thursday had given her a framed photo, a crisp copy from Miss Frazil of the original newspaper illustration of George, printed on good quality glossy paper and displayed in a smart silver plated frame he’d bought at the jewellers on his way back from Frazil’s office.

“This means the world to me,” she gulped. “How can I ever thank you?”  
“No need,” he replied kindly from his seat behind the desk.  
She smiled bravely then on impulse stepped round the desk to give him a hug around the neck.  
“Oh Sir!” she said. “Thankyou so much!”

Thursday brushed away her thanks and shooed her out of his office. His was genuinely moved by her reaction to the photo and considered it a fine way to pay his respects to her and young Fancy. And if it gave her reason in future to be less wary of him as her senior officer, then so much the better.


	3. Sandwiches

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trewlove finds a way to Thursday’s heart through making him sandwiches

Thursday was head down in a pile of paperwork at his desk when he saw someone step into the doorway of his office out of the corner of his eye. He looked up and smiled, pleased to see who it was.

“Constable Trewlove,” he announced.  
“Sir,” she grinned back at him.  
“Come in,” he beckoned, “what’s gossip?”  
“Nothing new,” she admitted, revealing that she usually knew all the gossip doing the rounds of the station.  
“Well,” he began, with nothing really to say, just enjoying her company for a moment in his busy morning.  
“I brought you these,” she said shyly, offering him a wax paper parcel. “I hope you like tongue, sir.”

Thursday looked up at her sharply. What did she mean by “tongue”? Was she being cheeky, he wondered, smirking at him like that? Then back at the parcel recognising it for a round of sandwiches.

“Tongue, eh?” he answered playfully. “I’m partial to a bit of tongue, myself. Haven’t had any in a long time.”

He found himself flirting with the young woman, over a round of sandwiches, for Heaven’s sake. He couldn’t help himself. And anyway, she’d started it.

Trewlove laughed, delighted that he’d taken up the joke between them. Thursday’s loins quivered in response. As she lifted her head to laugh, her soft throat exposed, he imagined pressing his lips to her skin just there, under the corner of her chin…

“I hope you don’t mind me making you some sandwiches,” she smiled. “I noticed you weren’t getting any. Sandwiches that is.”

Thursday could only laugh back at her. The bare faced cheek of the girl! To flirt with a senior officer was all wrong, but with her it felt just right. He shook his head in mock admonishment.

“That’s very kind,” he allowed, reining in his giddiness. “Thankyou.”  
“Not at all,” she blushed, feeling awkward after that moment of shared banter.  
Thursday sat silently, watching her with a smile on his face.  
“Do you like egg mayonnaise? For tomorrow,” she ventured.  
He nodded.

“No need to make me sandwiches every day,” he told her, amused.  
“I’d like to,” Trewlove blurted out a little too quickly.  
“Well then,” he replied. “That’d be very considerate.”

Trewlove pushed the package across the desk to him with the tips of her fingers. The waxed paper rustled. He reached out to take the parcel from her and somehow, unwittingly, caught her hand in his own as he did so. He squeezed her fingers when she didn’t immediately pull away.

“Would you like to go for lunch?” he asked spontaneously. “Sunday, mebbe. You said the other night you’re at a loose end most weekends.”  
“Yes,” she breathed. “Yes please.”  
“Pick you up at twelve at yours,” he offered.  
“Yes, thanks. Look forward to it.”  
“Sunday, then,” he said, and in moments she had turned and left the office. 

Thoughtfully he sat back in his chair and wondered what he was getting himself into.

Morse stepped into the office minutes after Trewlove had left, to admonish Thursday, having made it his business to overhear every word of their conversation. It didn’t take long for Morse to spell it out to his governor.

“Do you think it’s right to lead her on?” Morse launched into him.  
“She’s a grown woman,” Thursday replied evenly, realising Morse had been listening in. He was determined not to be riled. “She knows what’s what.”  
“Yes but do you?” Morse continued crossly. “She’s a junior officer under your command. And recently bereaved. And you’re married.”

Thursday would not have stood this insolence from anyone but Morse. Everything Morse said was true. And yet, Thursday was trying hard to convince himself that none of this mattered right now.

“If I want to take a junior officer out for lunch then I will do so,” he growled, standing up to lend physical presence to his words. “I’ve bought you lunch often enough,” he added, leaning on his knuckles to glare across the desk at his sergeant.

Morse was stumped. He had rarely seen his boss this belligerent.  
“That’s different!” he snapped.  
“Is it?” asked Thursday in a low and dangerous voice, trying to control his temper. “You’ve been given all the comfort and support I could offer yet still you question me. Here’s a young woman asking for my attention and all you can do is try to make out it’s something squalid. Where were you when she needed a shoulder to cry on? Where were you when she wanted to talk to someone?”

They both knew this was a low blow, but Thursday was not in the mood to apologise. Morse had felt so unbearably guilty over the death of George Fancy that until now he had barely been able to hold himself together, never mind comfort Shirley in her distress. And it was quite clear that she had not turned to Morse for comfort but had chosen Thursday instead. And Morse was rudely reminded of the debt he owed his governor for all the times that Thursday had gone out of his way to support and encourage him.

Reluctantly Morse backed down. He huffed and retreated from Thursday’s office having said his piece.

Thursday sat down annoyed with himself for rowing with Morse. He turned over in his mind all the accusations Morse had levelled at him admitting that perhaps he was overstepping the mark with Trewlove. He would have to be more careful, set some boundaries between them, and be sure to put her needs above his own personal desires.

And yet, Sunday. He was on a promise with an attractive young woman. It was the only thing in his lonely weekend he had to look forward to. And her smile lingered in his mind. He was good for her, he knew, rebuilding her confidence and making her laugh. And dammit, he felt good when he was around her. Was that too much to ask?

Jim raised his eyebrows at Morse after Thursday had left the office for lunch, taking Trewlove’s sandwiches with him.

“Sandwiches for the Old Man!” Jim commented, trying unsuccessfully to lead Morse into speculation.  
Morse only shrugged.  
“She’s got quite a crush on him, hasn’t she?” Jim attempted again.  
Morse looked up and considered the allegation without replying.  
Used to Morse’s taciturn nature, Jim continued the one sided conversation.  
“At least he’s cheered up since she started getting sweet on him. He used to go around like a bear with a sore head. She’s a good influence.”

Morse leaned back in his chair. Strange was right, Thursday had been particularly bad tempered over the weeks since Mrs Thursday had moved out. Not that Morse would ever share that observation with Strange or anyone else. In fact Morse was sure that he was the only one at the station who knew that Mrs Thursday had left her husband. But now that Trewlove and Thursday seemed to be growing closer, Morse realised that Thursday was relaxing and enjoying life again.

“He’s good for her, too. She’s seemed a bit happier for the first time since George…well since we lost him.” sighed Jim.

They both took a moment to dwell on Fancy’s untimely death and the conversation, such as it was, fizzled out. Jim thought no more of it, content that his governor had become easier to work with and that his young friend, Shirley, appeared to making a good impression on the Old Man. He liked Shirley, showing her a warm affection as if he were her big brother not just a colleague. And he worshipped the ground that DCI Thursday trod.

Morse stored up Jim’s unexpected insight into Thursday’s situation for future analysis. He was always slow to pick up on emotional clues to a relationship, often until, as now, it had to be spelled out to him. So Thursday was happier since Shirley started hanging round was he? And she was happier now her boss was noticing her? Morse resolved to keep a closer eye on things.


	4. Sunday Lunch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday gets a kiss and Morse gets a slap

Before Thursday had even got out of the car on Sunday, Trewlove had seen him pull up in the Jag from the window of her flat and came skipping down the front steps. He gallantly held open the passenger door for her and had a good look at her long legs as she folded herself demurely into the seat. Trewlove was wearing a short fashionable mackintosh over an even shorter mini dress, with patent leather boots and matching handbag. She looked, he decided, good enough to eat.

“Thought we’d take a drive out,” he offered, “have a pub lunch.” He named an out of the way country pub renowned for good food and a Sunday carvery.  
“Lovely,” she breathed, excitedly.

They made small talk during the drive, Thursday concentrating on the road and trying not to be distracted by the glimpses of her thighs where her skirt rode up. Trewlove chattered on about everything and nothing, filling the time with inconsequential conversation.

They found a window table in the busy pub, had a few drinks while they waited, then slowly munched their way through the most enormous Sunday dinner.

Over dinner they talked more seriously about her situation, about the office and about their colleagues. Trewlove revealed she had a real fondness for Jim Strange, something close to devotion to Mr Bright, admiration for Max DeBryn and abundant praise for Morse. Thursday felt his hackles rise at the mention of Morse and realised with concern that he was jealous of the lad. Did Morse have a special place in Trewlove’s heart, he wondered?

“That was delicious!” exclaimed Trewlove, patting her slim stomach.  
“Pudding?” asked Thursday facetiously, knowing they neither of them could eat another mouthful.  
Trewlove declined his suggestion with a groan and a laugh. They sat together silently finishing off their drinks and letting their dinner settle.

The waiter came to clear their table and Thursday asked for the bill.  
When Trewlove reached for her handbag, he waved her away.  
“My treat,” Thursday insisted.  
“You’ve been very kind,” she said in a serious voice. He cocked his head at her, awaiting more.  
“I’ve been so terribly lonely,” she admitted, “since George died. I really needed someone to talk to. And you’ve been, well, just what I needed.”  
She gave him a grateful smile that melted his poor, lonely heart.

Thursday dropped his gaze and concentrated on the table top.  
“Sometimes it just takes time,” he offered. “To come to terms. You know you can talk to me. About anything. Anything at all.”  
Trewlove nodded, and reached out to lay her slim hand on his.  
“Thankyou,” she smiled at him.  
“You’ve done the same for me when I needed someone to talk to” he admittedly quietly. 

A moment later Fred realised he had been lost in thought, staring at his companion while they sat with their hands clasped across the table. Her face was flushed, and he felt his own colour rise in response. He felt himself getting aroused most inappropriately and unforgivably. Thursday looked away quickly.

“Ready then?” he asked, pulling his hand away and standing up. 

Trewlove followed him out to the relative privacy of the car park. She contrived somehow to stand closely in front of him while she handed him her coat so he could hold it out for her. As she slipped her arms into the sleeves, she stumbled and Thursday caught her with his hand on her waist as she tripped backwards into him.

“Oops!” she giggled, leaning back into his chest.

Thursday allowed himself one delicious moment as he turned his face in towards hers, feeling the softness of her hair on his cheek, smelling the sweet scent of her perfume and holding her lightly in his arms.

He stepped back to set her on her feet, thinking she was perhaps a little tipsy from the drinks. But Trewlove turned to tilt her face up to his and looked at him invitingly, sober and surprisingly in control of herself and the situation she’d created. It took all his self control not to bend down to kiss her there and then in the middle of the parked cars.

She waited, expecting his kiss.

With a great effort of willpower, Thursday tore himself away and, gripping her by the elbow, steered her across to the Jag.

“Bit of fresh air,” he suggested, flustered at her deliberate flirting and knowing he had been oh so close to giving in to her. Morse’s admonishments were ringing in his ears. He turned quickly to the Jag intending to bundle both of them into it and drive her home out of temptation’s reach.

Instead Trewlove caught him by the sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” she said urgently. “I shouldn’t have.”

So she knew full well she had been teasing him!

“One too many I expect,” allowed Thursday, prepared to overlook the incident.

“I’m sorry,” she repeated. “It’s just that… I thought…well that you…” she ran out of explanation.

Thursday frowned at her and gave her a hard stare. What was she suggesting? That his attraction to her was all too obvious? That she wanted to punish him by teasing him? Thursday shook his head. He couldn’t make her out.

“Come on,” he said brusquely, “let’s get you home.”

They drove back to her flat in silence, the day somewhat complicated by her flirting so openly with him. When they pulled up and parked, she put her hand demurely on his arm to delay him from getting out of the car.

“I’ve had a lovely day,” she said quietly. “I’m sorry I spoiled things.”  
“No,” he objected, “you didn’t. I’ve enjoyed m’self too.”  
“My treat next time,” she suggested. “I’d like to do this again.”

So there was to be a next time, he was relieved to find. Thursday nodded his agreement. He felt conflicted, unwilling to let her leave yet finding it awkward to sit her beside her. Trewlove broke the tension by reaching across to him. She lifted her hand to his right cheek, turning his head towards her. He leaned into her caress, desperate for her affection, his heavy eyelids half closed.

Trewlove pressed a chaste kiss to his nearer cheek and stroked his face lightly as she let her hand drop. He was clutching the steering wheel to ground himself while his head reeled.

He looked into her eyes in wonder. What did she mean by this? What could she want of him?

Trewlove smiled at him and said “Till next time, then. Thanks Fred,” then added shyly,” You’re lovely, you know.”

Before he could reply, she was out of the car and up the steps into her building. He climbed stiffly out of the car to look up at the window of her flat. After a moment she appeared, and waved, and blew him a kiss. He caught it and without thinking, blew one back.

He climbed back into the Jag not quite ready to drive away, with his heart full of hope and his head full of wonder. What the hell was happening here? Shouldn’t he just drop the whole thing and step away from temptation? He felt uncomfortably out of control.

As he glanced in the rear view mirror he glimpsed a familiar figure darting out of sight down a side alley. In a flash, Thursday was out of the car and running towards the alley. For a big man he could move very swiftly and, besides, his quarry didn’t know the Inspector had seen them.

“Morse!” he barked at the retreating figure down the alley, for he had recognised it was his bagman who had been lurking outside Trewlove’s flat watching them. Morse froze mid stride and turned slowly to face his boss. As if in some sort of Wild West gunfight, Thursday rolled his shoulders ominously and stalked angrily towards the much slighter young man. As he got nearer, Thursday could see the frown on Morse’s face.

“What the hell are you up to?” Thursday demanded.  
“I could ask you the same,” snapped Morse.  
Thursday stopped in his tracks with surprise at Morse’s retort.

“Taking advantage of her like that!” Morse raged bitterly.  
Thursday realised that Morse had seen her kiss him in the car, and blow a kiss to him from her window.  
“That was just…” began the Inspector, flustered now that he had to try to explain himself.  
“What?” Morse interrupted. “Just a bit of fun? Just giving Constable Trewlove a shoulder to cry on?” he sneered.

Thursday was at a loss for words. Morse’s contempt stung him, all the more because it was deserved.  
“No,” he objected, “nothing like that!”

Morse continued relentlessly.  
“A quick feel in the front of the Jag or were you hoping to be invited in to get your leg over?” he spat.

Thursday lost it. He swung out at Morse in blind fury to stop the flow of vile accusations. Fortunately Morse saw the blow coming and leant aside a fraction. More importantly still, Thursday’s brain registered at the last moment that a solid punch would knock Morse out cold, so Thursday’s hand uncurled just enough to give Morse a resounding slap across the face. Morse reeled with the impact, holding both hands to his cheek.

Both were stunned for a fraction of a second. Morse started wide eyed at his trusted governor, tears starting to well up, shock setting in. Thursday stared in return, with horror at what he’d done and burning shame.

“Morse,” he said softly, reaching out for the lad’s shoulder.  
Morse shrugged him off petulantly.  
“Ge’ .. Off!” came a muffled cry.  
“Morse. I’m sorry lad. I never meant…” Thursday offered.  
Morse huffed and moved his hands away from his cheek, touching his lips tentatively, checking for any blood.

Thursday quickly took stock. If he had thumped Morse, he would be radioing for an ambulance right now for he could have really injured him. As it was, Morse’s pride seemed more hurt that his head. The wily old copper turned the situation to his advantage.

“What the hell were you doing spying on us?” he growled, anger covering his regret at hitting the lad.  
“I wasn’t,” Morse mumbled, chastened by the blow. He’d taken far worse in the line of duty but never in a million years did he think his adored boss would strike him. 

“I was looking out for Shir…for Constable Trewlove and just happened to be waiting outside her flat.”  
“But you knew I was taking her out for lunch today,” argued Thursday. “Worked out what sort of time we’d be back, eh? And hung around. Why?”  
Morse sighed. Was he really so obvious? And couldn’t his Inspector see for himself what was happening?

Morse straightened his shoulders and faced the angry man opposite him. He composed himself before replying.  
“I couldn’t do anything to save George Fancy,” he replied stiffly, “so I wanted to watch over Constable Trewlove. Offer her my protection in case anything happens to her.”  
“Oh lad!” his boss sighed. And then after careful consideration he explained “She doesn’t need your protection. Not skulking around like this. She needs someone to talk to, someone to care for her, not some kind of vigilante waiting in the shadows.”

Morse slumped. He knew he was acting ridiculously but the guilt of Fancy’s death weighed heavily on his narrow shoulders and he desperately needed to do something to try to make amends.

“Come here lad,” said Thursday softly. “Let’s take a look at that.”  
He reached out to gently take hold of Morse’s chin and turned his head to look properly at Morse’s reddened cheek. He had belted the young man very hard indeed, and Morse’s sharp cheekbone was starting to puff out a little.  
“You’ll have a shiner in the morning,” commented Thursday ruefully. “Sorry, lad, couldn’t stop m’self.”  
Morse smiled bravely.  
“Should have known not to provoke you like that!” he allowed.  
Thursday shook his head. He patted Morse’s cheek tenderly and turned away.

“Get some ice on that. Want a lift home?” he called over his shoulder as he walked back to the Jag.  
“No thankyou Sir”came the easy reply. Thursday shrugged and left Morse to make his own way home.

Thursday drove back to his house full of questions. With a large scotch and a full pipe in his own living room he thought over the confrontation with Morse. He understood full well that Morse was not coping with the guilt he felt over George Fancy. Fred resolved to take his bagman aside and make him talk this through. The lad was not coping by trying to deal with this by himself. But what if Morse fancied Shirley? Why wouldn’t he, he was a red blooded young tomcat who shagged anything in a skirt if his housemate Jim Strange was to be believed. And what if Shirley felt the same about Morse? He wasn’t unattractive, a bit awkward to get along with, but a decent man at heart. Fred began to feel jealous of Morse as an imaginary boyfriend for Shirley.

Fred also thought about every word, every move that Trewlove had made that day. She was so clear in his mind’s eye that in the night he dreamt of her, vividly, erotically, a young and gorgeous nymph tormenting and teasing him. He awoke in a sweat, looking around wildly for Shirley Trewlove, believing that she really was beside him in his bed. He groaned in disappointment as he realised it was only a dream and fell back against the pillows. He knew now, there was no doubt in his mind, that she had got under his skin, and he was falling for her. He had to confront his feelings before he let things get out of control.


	5. Late Night Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday needs to know how Trewlove feels

One night midweek Thursday finished work late and instead of trailing back to his empty house dropped into the pub for a quick beer. One pint became two then three, and the hour grew late. He was lost to the world, thinking deeply about Shirley Trewlove.

Was she sweet on Morse? Was she frozen with grief over the cruel death of her boyfriend George Fancy? Was her attention to Thursday just a crush, or professional interest, kindness towards a lonely man or real attraction as he hoped?

But Thursday was wise enough and self aware enough to thoroughly examine his own feelings for her. Shirley was intelligent, young and fresh, lovely to look at and a delight to be with. But Thursday, and here he groaned out loud, was old enough to be her father and should know better than to have fallen for this extraordinary young woman.

He wanted very much to be with her. But only if she wanted him. She’d given him encouragement, spending time with him out of working hours, flirting even. He’d spilled his guts out to her, telling her his shameful secret about his ruined marriage. But Thursday just wasn’t sure what Trewlove felt for him, and a fire burned in him to find out.

Before he could think it through, Thursday found himself standing on the pavement outside Trewlove’s flat. With a few pints inside for courage, he was determined once and for all to understand Trewlove’s feelings for him. He risked making a fool of himself, horrible embarrassment if he got this wrong, but he could not go on hoping she cared for him and not know the truth.

Thursday stepped up to the doorway and rang the bell for Trewlove’s flat.

He stood back and looked up at her first floor window, suddenly hoping she wasn’t in, that he could turn around and forget this stupid idea. The curtains were closed, he was about to move away and walk on, when they twitched back so that Trewlove could look down to the street to see who was calling at this late at night.

Thursday lifted his hat in greeting as she waved at him. He swung his arm in an elaborate bow and straightened up to see her grinning at him. She lifted her index finger and mouthed at him to wait there, she’d be down in just one minute.

Thursday’s guts tightened with nerves. What the hell was he doing here late at night bothering her like this?

Before he could flee, the big front door opened and Trewlove stood there in her dressing gown and slippers beckoning him in.

“I was just passing…” Thursday began his lame excuse for disturbing her.  
“Come in,” she urged, “come in.”  
Gratefully Thursday stepped inside the main hallway.  
“Just passing…” he tried again.  
Trewlove shut the main door behind him.   
“Come on up,” she insisted and caught the sleeve of his coat to pull him towards the stairs up to her first floor flat.

As she turned to go up, Thursday was drawn off balance and stumbled on the stairs behind her. She let go his sleeve and took him by the hand to steady him. Her hand was warm in his, quickly sobering him as he followed her upstairs to her own flat.

Once her door was closed behind them, Thursday stood foolishly, still holding her hand in his. 

She leaned in to him, wrapping both her hands round his, and looking up into his face.  
“You’re cold. Would you like a drink?” she asked. “Hot chocolate?”  
Thursday shook his head.  
“Didn’t mean to disturb you..” he apologised, registering that the bedclothes were thrown back, probably still warm from where she’d just got out of bed to answer the door to him.

“It’s good to see you,” she murmured.  
“I should go,” he added half heartedly, and tried to turn back, but she held onto him so he could not step away.  
“Stay,” she said firmly.  
“If you’re sure…”  
“Sit down,” she urged, indicating the sofa.  
Thursday laid his hat on the coffee table and did as he was told.

Trewlove settled into the comfy armchair and tucked her feet beneath her. She waited for Thursday to speak.

Thursday began again where he’d left off.  
“Thought I’d look in. See how you’re doing,”. He dropped his head and added “Sorry, didn’t realise it was so late.”  
“What’s up?” she asked gently. When he didn’t answer, Trewlove continued “You can tell me, you know.”

Thursday looked up at her. The frown between his eyebrows had deepened, his ruddy cheeks had flushed a little redder, and his eyes widened. His heart was racing from the excitement of being here with her, she looked especially lovely with bed tousled hair and sleepy eyes.

Thursday took his chance, knowing it was now or never, and plunged in.  
“I know you’re missing George,” he said gently, “we all do. You more than anyone. And mebbe you’re looking for someone just to fill that gap.”  
Trewlove gasped a little at his direct approach then dropped her eyes, sitting quietly, waiting to hear him out.  
“I’ve seen you with the lads at the station. They’d do anything for you. You could have your pick of any of them,” he continued.

“It’s not them I want,” she whispered shaking her head slowly.   
“Who is it then?” he ventured, not really wanting to hear the answer. “Is it Morse? He can be a stubborn sod but he’s a heart of gold.”  
To his amazement, Trewlove looked at him in blank astonishment then threw back her head and pealed with laughter.  
“Morse!” she hooted. “Morse of all people!”

Dismayed, Thursday could only stare, bemused at her reaction.  
“Don’t get me wrong,”she laughed, “he’s a lovely man. As a friend. But he’s such a plank at times! Morse!” She laughed again shaking her head at his mistake.  
“Then who?” Thursday asked again, bewildered.

Trewlove stilled suddenly and looked at him long and hard, her head one one side. She stood up from the armchair, elegantly uncurling her long legs, and stepped over to him. Thursday leaned back to watch her as she knelt carefully on the sofa at his side, her hands on his shoulders to steady herself.

“It’s you, Fred,” she announced softly. “It’s you.”

Thursday’s blood rushed to his head, drowning all thoughts in a roar of confusion. He sat stunned, open mouthed, staring at her. He could not believe what he had heard. Did she really say she wanted him?

He tried to say something, anything, mouthing some unspoken words while she smiled back at him.

“Me?” he gurgled, “me? But I’m …”

Trewlove cut him off by leaning forward to kiss him.

“Lovely?” She finished his sentence for him. “Kind, thoughtful, caring, patient…you’ve been nothing but kindness itself to me.”

Thursday was never one to use too many words when fewer would suffice.

“You want me?” he asked incredulously. 

“I want you, Fred Thursday.” Taking advantage of his confusion she snuggled onto his lap, slipping her arms around his neck. “Will you have me?”

“Oh Sweetheart!” was all Fred could reply as he gathered her up in his arms and squeezed her tight. He felt overwhelmed with joy, he desired her so much yet her question was so unexpected that he felt full to bursting with gratitude. 

“Oh Sweetheart!” He repeated when he got his breath back, “truly, is this what you want?”

Fred was feeling uncharacteristically unsure of himself. Her declaration had caught him by surprise, and he needed further confirmation to ease his worries.

“Mmm,” she agreed, kissing him again. That was all the encouragement he needed.

“You know I’m not a free man,” he cautioned, referring to his marriage being on the rocks.  
“I know,” she nodded. 

His heart seemed to shift a little in his chest with the delightful sensation of her weight in his lap and her words in his ears. He had butterflies in his stomach and a dull ache in his groin. Thursday took several deep breaths to calm himself.  
“I’ll do everything I can to make you happy,” he told her solemnly.  
“I know you will,” she murmured stroking his cheek before she kissed him again.

They sat for some time, kissing and murmuring together. Thursday wrapped himself around her, truly amazed that she had chosen him. He gently ran his fingers through her long soft hair as she nuzzled in to his shoulder, and stroked his firm hands down her back and thighs. She sighed contentedly. 

When he tried to leave, she begged him to stay a little longer, at least until she went back to sleep. Trewlove curled up in bed while he tucked in the blankets around her. He sat by her bedside holding her little hand in his much bigger one, as she drifted off. He wondered at her trust in him, what on Earth she saw in him, and was content to wait to find out. For the first time in months he was happy, deeply happy, with this wonderful girl holding his hand. Kissing her forehead goodnight, he crept from the flat, turning off the light and closing the door quietly behind him.


	6. Fumble in the Dark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday restrains himself but gets a slap from Trewlove

Since that evening at Shirley’s flat, they had spent nearly every evening together after work. At first he was shy with her, unaccustomed to showing his emotions and reluctant to lead her on. He was painfully aware that he was after all still a married man.

Shirley seemed to have no doubts about their relationship, kissing and cuddling him and wanting him to carress her in return. They were careful only to show affection behind closed doors, at her flat or his home, and never ever at the station. No matter how keen she was, this was not a situation he cared to make public, not yet, and he warned her to do the same.

Thursday was torn. He would have dearly loved to show her just how much she meant to him. It was driving him mad, spending each evening on a sofa groping her firm young body then finding himself home alone in an empty house, and even worse, an empty bed. He was permanently strung out, thinking of her long legs draped over his knees, her soft hands in his, her hot kisses at his throat. She had turned him on right from the start and he didn’t seem to be able to turn himself off again, always half hard and yearning for physical relief.

Yet Shirley was eager to take things further and grew frustrated with his secrecy over the first few weeks. She persuaded Thursday to drive her out “somewhere quiet” so they could have some private time together, and that evening they sat holding hands in the Jag in a secluded spot in the woods.

Shirley leaned across awkwardly from the passenger seat to kiss him. Fred really was wound up tonight and feeling terribly frustrated, unable to respond properly to her obvious enthusiasm. Finally, his excuse being that the gear stick was in the way, he climbed out of the Jag.

Outside, privately, he adjusted his trousers as he was feeling horny as hell and his erection was painfully caught up in his pants. Shirley had got out of the car to join him.

“This is lovely isn’t it?” she murmured, pressing her firm young body up against his. “Just the two of us with no one else around for miles.”  
“Mmmmm,” he answered distractedly. He had to twist to one side a little to shelter his erection from her bony hip. They kissed passionately, or rather, she kissed him while he braced himself against the car.

“Fred?” she whispered. “I want you.”  
Fred leant back trying to hold himself back under intense temptation. He knew exactly what she meant, but wished she hadn’t said it out loud. He was trying to resist her, but she was making it very difficult for him.

Shirley stepped back from him, catching hold of his lapel with one hand to steady herself while she reached up under the hem of her skirt. Thursday just stared as she grinned devilishly up at him. He groaned as she bent, pulling down her knickers with her free hand. She straightened up and waved them provocatively in front of him.

“Weeell?” she giggled, thrusting herself back onto his broad chest.

Thursday had lost all ability to fight her, she knew what she wanted and he was powerless to resist. She drew his hand down in hers and stood on tiptoe for him to fondle her. He obeyed, sliding his fingers between her legs to touch her gently. Trewlove wound herself around him, moaning encouragement, while Fred worked her up with the tips of his fingers. 

They tussled a bit for balance, with Trewlove ending up perched on the bonnet of the Jag, her long legs wrapped high on Thursday’s hips. He was bent over her, concentrating intently on what she wanted, his breath labouring in and out slowly, grunting in time with the slow movement of his slick fingers. He could hardly think straight, aware only of her heat and wetness, his finger tips tingling, his cock aching in sympathy.

Shirley disentangled herself to lean back onto her elbows, splayed across the car bonnet, deliberately tempting him. Then she laughed at him.

Thursday lost it in that instant. He grabbed her arms and spun her round, bending her face down over the Jag. With one hand he shoved her skirt high up to her waist, hardly glancing at her bare arse, holding her in place with his hand wrapped round her hip, with his other hand at his belt and his flies undone and his cock in his hand as he bent double over her, his belly on her back.

“You want it?” he groaned into her ear.  
“Yes, yes!” she slapped the bonnet of the car emphatically.

Thursday leaned back a little, his fist curled round his throbbing cock. His trousers strained across his thighs as he widened his stance to dig his feet in. He swung his hips to position himself, ready to shove his way inside her. As he delicately held his cock against her wetness, he shuddered as the cold air chilled his exposed belly and balls. 

Thursday suddenly came to his senses.

What the fuck was he doing? What the hell was he thinking? Oh Christ, this was all wrong.

Straightening up, still holding himself firmly, he looked down at Shirley sprawled across the bonnet. Oh no, oh Dear God, not like this, not here, not now. Thursday tucked himself back into his pants and bent to pull up his trousers, completely convinced that he must stop this nonsense immediately. It had gone too far.

As he was tucking in his shirt, Shirley looked back at him over her shoulder.  
“Fred?” she queried, trembling a bit having been left with her arse hanging out in the cold. Gently Fred pulled her skirt back down over to cover her bare bum. He gave her a gentle pat on the behind and pulled her up to stand and look at him.

“Not like this, Sweetheart,” he said apologetically.  
“What?!” she gasped, astonished at his change of heart.  
“This is not the time or place,” he added, waving his hand around the empty space.  
“What?!” she repeated, confused. “You’re not going to do it, after, after…” she gestured to the bonnet where only moments before she had offered herself to him.  
“No Sweetheart,” he said firmly. “We should wait.”

Thursday had no time to react as Trewlove reached her arm back as far as it would go and slapped him very, very hard across the face.

Stunned, he swayed back on his heels, face turned away from her.  
“You bastard!” she hissed at him. “You bastard!”.  
Thursday slowly turned back to face her expecting another sharp blow from her. But Shirley shoved him away and stalked round to the far side of the car.  
“Sweetheart?” he implored.  
She shook her head fiercely, face scrunched up in anger.  
“No!” she snapped back. “You think it’s okay to just stop in the middle of all this and say it can wait?” she spat out across the car roof. “You think that’s okay, do you? You think….” Too angry to continue she wrenched open the passenger door and plunged in, slamming the door hard behind her.

Shocked at her outburst Thursday stood alone in the darkness. He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. Alright so he’d led her on a bit, but there was no need for all this was there? And he hadn’t actually done the deed so that was alright too wasn’t it? It’s not as if he’d had her over the bonnet and then pulled up short. Or maybe that’s what she had wanted? To go ahead anyway, they were very nearly at it, she wanted it badly, he knew that, and maybe she just wanted him to go ahead after all. Well too late now he realised, his ardour thoroughly cooled. They would have to wait for another night.

Thursday drove her home in silence. She was mad with him he could tell, and wouldn’t say a word to him on the way. He tried to coax a few words from her but gave up when she turned her back to him and stared out of the window, her forehead against the cool window pane.

When they got to her flat she was out of the car and up the front steps before he had time to say goodnight. As he stood in frustration on the pavement, looking up to her window, she drew the curtains without a glance down at him.

Thursday climbed back into the car and drove home. He knew he had hurt her feelings, insulted her even, and would have to make amends. He was confused and astonished by her desire for him, and could not think quite how to sort this out between them. It would take all his tact and perseverance even to approach her, but it would have to be done, and soon.


	7. Thursday’s Invitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trewlove forgives Thursday and they have another chance to get it together

At the station the following day there was no sign of Trewlove. Thursday had stayed up most of the night formulating an apology to give her, only to find she was nowhere to be seen. Anxiously he enquired about her mid morning to be told that she had signed in for that shift and had not left the building since. Worried now that she was avoiding him deliberately, he fretted about whether to seek her out or whether to let her be. He decided on the latter although it caused him a bout of heartburn brought on by the stress of knowing she was somewhere nearby but he could not yet try to sort out their row from last night.

Thursday retreated to his office and dwelt on his foolish rush to embrace her, her horror at his rejection and his complete failure to behave decently. This only made his heartburn worse, caused by indigestion he reckoned, so he took himself off to the pub for an early lunch.

Half an hour later, Morse sought out his governor in the pub. Thursday immediately became suspicious when Morse offered to buy him a pint.   
“Anything new on that burglary?” his boss asked.  
Morse shook his head.  
“Nothing new at all,” he said, “it’s been very quiet.”

Thursday nodded, only half listening. Morse knew he had been distracted all morning, correctly guessed that Trewlove was the cause, and had decided to take pity on the older man.  
“So quiet in fact I’ve been catching up on my paperwork. Thought I’d take a leaf out of Shirley’s book,” offered Morse.  
Thursday looked up enquiringly.  
“She’s borrowed a desk in the typing pool today. She didn’t want to be disturbed while writing up her reports,” Morse added.

Thursday’s face lit up with the realisation that he could find Trewlove and offer his apology after all. Morse smiled into his pint as Thursday hastily finished his own, made his excuses and left.

Thursday’s unexpected arrival at the typing pool caused a bit of a stir. Senior officers, though welcome, did not often condescend to visit this humble corner of the police station. When he scanned the room he saw Constable Trewlove at a typewriter surrounded by a stack of typed reports. She froze mid sentence as she saw him, her hands hovering undecidedly above the keys. 

Mrs Fairday, Head of Typing, greeted Chief Inspector Thursday with his full title and due respect. On learning of his mission to talk to his colleague, she escorted the inspector all of ten yards across the noisy, busy room to stand before Trewlove’s borrowed desk. When left to themselves, there was an uncomfortable moment before Thursday found his tongue while Trewlove looked at him very coolly.

“Constable,” he greeted her.  
“Sir,” she replied, suppressing her surprise at seeing him standing in front of her.  
“Could you step up to my office when you have a moment?” he asked humbly.  
“Sir”  
He nodded, turned and strode out.

Trewlove wanted more than anything to rush after him and beg his forgiveness for last night’s scene. Instead of embarrassing him like that, she stayed seated for another excruciatingly slow ten minutes before making a great show of tidying up her files and making her way to the door.

“Don’t keep him waiting, dear, DCI Thursday is a very busy man,” said Mrs Fairday kindly, clearly fond of the gruff inspector.

Trewlove made her way nervously to Thursday’s office. How could she make amends, she wondered, knowing that she had behaved badly last night and hurt him with her angry outburst. She was truly sorry for that. Would he forgive her? 

She knocked gently on his door.

Thursday had been waiting for her and nodded her in. He stood up politely and waved her to take the chair on the other side of his desk. As she sat down, Thursday shut the door behind her. 

“Well,” he announced as he sat down opposite her, ready with his apology.  
“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have kicked off like that last night,” she blurted out.  
Thursday looked surprised but raised a hand placatingly.  
“I’m sorry too,” he said gently.  
“I don’t know what came over me to act like that. I just got so wound up,” she continued, determined to offer him a full apology.  
“Shirley!” he shook his head.

Thursday realised she had to say what she had bottled up. Instead of interrupting her he reached across the desk and offered her his hand. Surprised, Trewlove leant forward and caught his fingers gratefully.

“It’s not like me to lose it like that. I should never have said those things.”  
“Look, we were both a bit wound up. I want to apologise too, it should never have gone that far,” Thursday said wearily.  
“Oh!” His own apology had caught her off guard.

They sat holding hands across the desk for a while without speaking.  
“Want to make it up to you,” he began. “How about dinner at mine Friday night after work?”  
She smiled with relief and nodded.

“We can talk about it then,” he continued. “Can’t seem to say what is needed here at the station,” he smiled ruefully.  
“Yesss,” she breathed out with relief. He had forgiven her, felt badly himself and was willing to try to put things right. She could wait, they would have time enough to talk later in the week. For now it was enough for her that she should see him again.

Friday rolled around, the end to a quiet week for the Oxford constabulary. Mid afternoon when Trewlove went to Thursday’s office with a stack of papers for him to sign he pulled her in and shut the door.  
Holding her by the arm Thursday bent to her ear and whispered conspiratorially,   
“Still alright for this evening?”.  
“Yes,” she answered, a little alarmed by his manner.  
“Pick you up at six?” he suggested.  
“Yes,” again.

And then the reason for his secrecy was explained.  
“Thought you might like to stay over?” he offered nervously.  
She looked up at him, seeing worry of rejection written all over his face.  
“Yes. I’d like to. Very much,” she replied lightly.

Thursday straightened up with a slow smile and dropped his hold on her.   
“Sure?” he asked gently.  
“Yes. I want to. Really I do.”  
Thursday was positively grinning now.  
“Well!” 

She smiled back at him, excited at the prospect of finally spending a night with him. For that’s what he meant, she understood well enough, and he had feared she might turn him down.

“Oh Fred! You are a darling,” she laughed and stood on tip toe to kiss him on the cheek. In a second, Trewlove swung past him, opened the door and was gone.  
Thursday was left rubbing his cheek softly and grinning after her, delighted she had accepted his proposal.

It had taken Thursday a few long days and troubled nights of soul searching to come to the decision to invite Shirley to stay the night with him. She had clearly wanted to make love the other night, which was both flattering and troubling to him. Surely they could not do it in indecent haste in the back of a car, or over the bonnet, or some other unsuitable place. Neither could he see himself squeezing into her single bed at the flat. So offering to bring her to his own home seemed the right solution.

More fundamental was the question of whether it was the right thing to do at all. Thursday struggled with this for many dark nights. On the one hand, she was gorgeous and he was sincerely attracted to her; on the other hand he was still, at least in law, a married man, the threatened divorce having not yet been finalised.

His wife’s solicitor had sent through their divorce papers which he had signed and returned with a heavy heart only because that’s what Win wanted, to be rid of him. It was the final humiliation in this whole sorry tale of woe. First he had lied to his wife over the loan of their life savings to his feckless brother, then he had ruined them when his brother lost every penny Fred and Win had scraped together for their retirement. Next he had tried to replace the money through taking bribes at work, fronted by another pack of lies, until Win had seen through his corrupt efforts and poured scorn on the immoral wreck of a man he had become. Leaving him was, he now saw, her only option. 

He had fallen so far, what difference would it make to be unfaithful to his soon-to-be-ex-wife? 

In Fred’s mind this would be the worst of his sins. He had loved his wife throughout their long and happy marriage for her kindness, her loving nature and her faith in him. Although he had squandered her good opinion of him, he loved her still, he would never stop loving Win, he knew. But maybe, just maybe, for one mad night he could take another woman into his bed and soothe the pain of the absence of his dearest wife.

And so it was through a rather twisted logic and his enduring love for his wife that Fred Thursday had invited Shirley to stay the night. That and the hope that he might comfort the young woman still reeling from the recent death of her own boyfriend. He would soon learn that it was a rather too complicated reasoning to prove successful.


	8. First Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trewlove spends the night with Thursday only it’s not what he had expected

Thursday stood behind Trewlove so she could hand her coat to him. It was the same short mackintosh she had worn on that ruined evening in the woods. Tonight however she wore slacks and a sweater that hugged her lovely figure.

He had picked her up in the Jag after work earlier that evening and driven her to his house as arranged. She was excited he could see, which increased his own excitement. Also they were both a little nervous. This was after all a bold move on both their parts, explicitly agreeing to a liaison whilst both were struggling with emotional turmoil. Fred was determined to take this steadily so he would not make the same mistake again of trying to rush her into anything she wasn’t ready for.

He offered her a drink, suggested they have dinner, but she didn’t want anything. He downed a large scotch for the courage to propose they go straight up to bed. Shirley agreed and looked relieved that they were going to get on with it.

Upstairs in the bedroom, Fred undressed down to his vest and underpants, watching as Shirley stepped out of her slacks. He pulled her towards him, caught hold of the edge of her sweater and pulled it up over her head. She shook out her hair while he dropped the sweater to the floor. He wrapped his long arms around her to undo her bra. He made no fuss of her wonderful bare breasts, warm against his chest, downplaying the situation to help them both relax. He could see she was nervous and his own fingers trembled on her skin.

He reached low to pull down her knickers and she wriggled the rest of the way out of them. Lifting the bedcovers he swept the naked young woman into bed and she hopped in obligingly. Fred sat on the edge of the bed with his back to her. He was reluctant to take off his vest while facing her to spare her the upsetting sight of the livid red scars across his chest where he’d once been shot. He hesitated before half turning to her.

“Sure you want to do this?” he asked gently. He would not have been too surprised, or disappointed for that matter, if she changed her mind.  
“Yes,” she nodded nervously. He knew that he must take things slowly, not rush her as he had done out in the woods.

He smiled encouragingly, not sure whether it was her or himself that needed the encouragement.  
“No need to worry about getting in the family way,” he announced quietly. “Had the snip years ago.” He would protect her from that indignity at least.

Shirley reached up for him and he leaned down to kiss her. She was a bit jumpy, just nerves he thought. He had to unwind her arms from round his neck so he could turn away and pull off his vest. He rocked forward just enough to drag down his underpants then slipped carefully under the covers next to her.

Shirley rolled in to him and continued kissing him, rather enthusiastically.

“Steady, steady!” he laughed. “No need to rush.”  
Chastened she waited for him make the next move. Fred took the lead, wanting this to be a much more comforting and satisfying episode than the undignified scramble over the bonnet of the Jag had been.  
“Roll over, Sweetheart,” he whispered. “Onto your back.” She did so obediently. That’s what she needs, thought Fred, a little guidance and patience. He leaned across her and they kissed again.

Shirley kept on shifting about, unable to decide where to put her hands. He tried to calm her with long slow strokes of his own hands down her sides and back. Finally he sought to settle her down.

“Put your arms round my neck,” he suggested.  
“Like this?” she asked shyly.  
“Just hold on,” he smiled at her reassuringly. “Leave it to me.”

Fred ran his hand around her hip, across her belly and between her legs. He ran the flat of his hand across her soft inner thighs and cupped her fanny in his broad palm. He was an enthusiastic llover despite having been faithful over twenty years to just one woman, his darling wife, and he was open to trying new moves to see which suited his young lover. Dipping his head he began to lay kisses across her breasts while Shirley hung on tight around his neck.

“Like that?” he huffed.  
“Yeah, yeah,” she sighed.  
“Tell me if I do anything you don’t like,” he instructed her.  
“Yeah,” was all she could manage.

Fred kept on kissing, occasionally nibbling her gently with his teeth. She lay back and let him do what he would. Fred took control, kissing here, touching there, believing she was enjoying this as much as he was.

Raising his hand to his lips, Fred sucked his thick middle finger to wet it and pushed his hand again between her legs. He slipped his slick finger inside her, finding her wet already. He glided his finger in and out, deeper and deeper, while she clung to him.

“Like it?” he growled, his voice now thick with emotion.  
She grunted her agreement, unable to reply in words.  
“Very smooth,” he crooned.*  
She was gasping in rhythm with his caresses, lying back and letting him do all the work.  
“Want some more?” his deep voice reverberated against her belly.  
“Uuuuh!” she was beyond words.

Encouraged he tried two fingers which he had to work in gently as she was still a bit tight. She was bucking her hips into his touch, moaning in appreciation.

A little detached from their lovemaking, Thursday was trying to keep his head to be able to satisfy her properly this time. It didn’t occur to him to talk any more. She was making it very clear that she wanted him to fuck her and didn’t want to wait. The next step was obvious even if it had only taken a short while to reach this stage.

“You ready?” he panted. She was kissing him so deeply he found it hard to catch his breath.  
“Yes!” she gasped.  
“Right then,” he signalled as he lifted himself onto his elbows and knees. 

Fred carefully worked his broad hips in between her thighs and steadied himself on his knees. He made sure he didn’t press his weight down onto her, allowing her time to wriggle into a comfortable position. Fred considerately took matters, literally, into his own hands. He reached down to give the old boy a few tugs of encouragement and held his thick cock tightly in his fist while he slowly lowered his body onto hers. He held his cock in place against her wetness and pushed gently until the tip of his cock slipped inside her. 

Pulling his hand away, he rolled onto his elbow and dropped his hips which made her gasp.  
“Sorry,” he muttered, intent on finishing what they had now started.  
“Oh!” she gasped again as he pressed his cock deeper into her.  
“Oh, Oh, Oh!” as he pushed and backed, pushed and pushed again.  
“Tight,” he wheezed, rolling his hips expertly to try to get a little further in. She clung to him, digging in her nails. He reached back to prize one of her hands off his back to avoid any unintended injury.

He pushed harder, feeling how slick she was, vaguely puzzled that his cock, which was stiff as a poker, would not slip in more readily. He lifted his bulk a couple of inches higher and rammed home harder with his next thrust, certain that this time he was in as far as he could go.

“Ohhhh, ooowwwww!” A sharp cry of pain came from beneath him.

Thursday froze. He was hurting her. He ducked his head to see that her face was turned away to the side, screwed up in discomfort. Her body was no longer bucking up to meet his, but submissively limp underneath him. 

In horror he realised what had happened.

“Oh Christ!” he groaned in disbelief. “On no!”

Slowly he eased his heavy body off hers, grunting as his firm cock slid out. He carefully shuffled sideways on hands and knees until he could roll away onto his back.

A thousand curses and regrets flew through his mind. Not this, not her, not now, not after that aborted attempt in the woods. Christ, why hadn’t he asked her a million questions before tumbling her into bed. He was a fucking fool, he thought, for fucking her.

“Come here,” he sighed, reaching out for her.  
Shirley scrambled to his side whimpering and he wrapped her under his wing.  
“It’ll be alright,” he soothed. “It’s all over.”  
She sniffled into his chest.

He tried not to sound mad at her, it was his own stupid mistake, but he had to know.  
“Why didn’t you tell me it was your first time?” he asked her gently.

888888

Shirley was trying to gather her herself together. She’d never thought in detail about what it would be like to make love physically, because she didn’t really know, only that she desperately wanted to do it. And she’d chosen Thursday to do it with her this all important first time because she trusted him. 

But it seemed she’d done it all wrong. She’d been too anxious, too rushed, too nervous to confide in him to understand what it would mean. And now she’d made a mess of everything, just like the night in the woods all over again.

Angry with herself, she burst into tears of frustration. Alarmed that he had seriously hurt her, Fred hugged her close and whispered a constant stream of endearments as she cried herself out. She elbowed herself up onto his broad chest to look him in the face as she dashed away her tears.

“I’m sorry Fred. So sorry.”  
Fred loosed his hold on her and looked up into her face mildly surprised. He thought he’d hurt her, forcing her when she wasn’t ready. He frowned, wanting to understand the physical pain he’d caused her.  
“How do you feel?”, he tried again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”  
She shrugged.  
“Mmmm. Okay. It didn’t hurt too much. It was a shock more than anything,” she admitted, embarrassed.

Fred laid back with relief. He blamed himself for not finding out beforehand that she was still a virgin. He was mortified that he’d had two good goes at fucking her without even knowing the most basic facts about her love life. Well that would have to change, right here and now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked more kindly, stroking her firmly with his hands to try to relax her.  
“I didn’t know what to say,” she apologised.  
“Oh Sweetheart!” he whispered. “You can say anything to me. Don’t you trust me?”  
“Yes, yes of course! That’s why I wanted it to be you.”  
“You know you can tell me anything,” he insisted. “Anything at all.”

Fred was still puzzled and needed to clear up this confusion between them. He used all his years of experience dealing with victims of crime to gently question her. He had to get to the truth before they could truly trust one another.

“Never been to bed with a man before?” he needed to know.  
She shook her head.  
“Not even with George?” he asked tenderly.  
“No.” she said sadly. “I wanted to. But he wanted to wait until we got married.”

It seemed so easy to say these things now that Fred had started the discussion, when only minutes before she had been too nervous even to raise the topic. Fred smiled wistfully up at her, his eyes kind and he was waiting patiently for her to continue at her own pace. Shirley found she wanted to tell him everything.

“I wanted to …errrr… do it with him,” she said shyly, struggling for the words she didn’t know. “But we never even got engaged. I think we would have done….” If he’d lived she implied.

“Oh Sweetheart! I’m sure he wanted to make love to you,” he said, offering her a better vocabulary. “When the time was right.”

“We never did make love,” she was using the words Fred taught her, “and I didn’t know how to ask him,” she added bitterly.

Fred thought back to an incident he’d witnessed by accident.

“He was going to ask you,” he said with certainty. “I saw him by chance. In that jewellers opposite Magdalen. Looking at engagement rings.”  
“Really?!” she didn’t know whether to believe him.  
Fred nodded thoughtfully.  
“He didn’t see me. But he was holding up a diamond ring to the light.”  
Fred was so persuasive that she was convinced. A shy smile spread across her face. Fred acknowledged that she trusted him now, and sent up a silent word of thanks to the ghost of young George Fancy. He could now turn the conversation back to their own circumstances.

“Wouldn’t have rushed you like that if I’d known. That you were a virgin,” he explained.  
“And am I still? A virgin I mean?”  
Fred considered this.  
“Technically, no,” he said thoughtfully. “Had a prick inside you,” he explained. “But we didn’t really ‘make love’. Should have been a lot more fun than that!” he laughed playfully. To his relief she laughed too.

“What’s it like? When you do ‘make love’?” she wondered.  
“Sweet as can be,” he replied without hesitation. “You get lost in it, overwhelmed, taken out of yourself,” he tried to explain. “You’ll see.”  
“Can we still make love?” she wanted to know.  
Fred was amused at her combined enthusiasm and innocence.  
“Yes,” he chuckled. “If you like. But you’ll have to wait a while.”  
She frowned at him, not understanding his meaning.  
“You’ll have to wait for me,” he emphasised. “Old man like me takes time to recover.”  
The penny still didn’t drop for Trewlove so Thursday spelled it out for her.  
“My erection,” he clarified. “It’ll take a while to stand to attention again.”  
“Ohhh!” mused Shirley.  
“Can still have a bit of fun while we’re waiting,” growled Thursday encouragingly.  
Shirley grinned at him.  
“Show me how!”, she laughed.  
Fred was delighted to oblige.  
“I told you I like a bit of tongue,” he remarked mischievously, referring back to her sandwich making. “How about you?”.  
Shirley could only gasp in reply as Fred began to pleasure her.

They lay in bed half the morning while Thursday showed Trewlove any number of ways to have fun in bed and taught her a whole new vocabulary. He used his hands and fingers, lips and tongue to arouse her time after time. By the time his prick had started to raise its head again, Trewlove was begging for a rest so they changed roles and Trewlove was gently instructed in how to handle him.

And then they made love. Fred was a considerate lover, careful with his inexperienced partner, and brought them both to a blissful climax.

As they lay tangled together, panting happily, Shirley kissed him again.  
“Thankyou,” she whispered. “That was lovely.”  
Thursday choked back a weary chuckle when she asked in all seriousness,  
“When can we do it again?”

888888

They made love the whole weekend, only leaving the house late on Sunday afternoon to walk Shirley back to her flat. As they crossed the green, they sat a while on the bench overlooking the river to enjoy the view still both on a high from their lovemaking. When they stood to leave, Fred offered Shirley his hand to help her up. She took it and laughed up at him. Fred grinned down at her, both lust and laughter shining in his face as he held onto her hand.

Unfortunately at that very moment a couple of women who had recognised him from a distance happened to be passing.

“Fred?” enquired Win for it was indeed his wife, out for a walk with her sister.

Fred spun around, dropping Shirley’s hand as if it burnt him.

“Win?” he gasped, staggered to see her. He realised immediately that she had seen him with Shirley. It was written all over her astonished face.

Fred recovered himself a split second before his jealous wife.

“Win, this is Constable Trewlove,” he said, hoping to scurry away without further explanation.  
“Oh Fred!” said Win, disappointed to see the obvious affection for this young girl in her husband’s face. She could read him like a book after so many years of marriage.  
“Just on our way…” he waved vaguely across the green.  
“Don’t let me hold you up,” his wife snapped, turning on her heel and marching away with her sister in tow.  
“Oh Win,” he muttered to her retreating back. 

What the hell had he done now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Roger Allam who plays Fred Thursday won an Olivier Award for playing Falstaff in Henry IV at The Globe in 2010. At one point he croons “Very smooth”, actually referring to Hal’s leather boots, but raises a huge laugh from the audience as a double entendre because as he says it he has his hand up Doll Tearsheet’s skirt.
> 
> https://all-allam.com/roger-allam-stage/


	9. London Calling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday learns that Shirley has other plans for her future

Fred and Shirley had spent a couple of nights together although they were not exactly dating. By mutual consent they agreed to keep their affair quiet for now. Thursday did not want his young colleague exposed to taunts of favouritism at the station for sleeping with the boss and he was in no position to offer her any protection when his own marital situation was so unsure. 

Time spent with Trewlove was delightful. He was pleasantly surprised at how good he could make her feel. When they were together she was constantly attentive to him and always willing to follow his lead. It was no surprise that she made him feel young and horny again. Deep down however he admitted to himself if not to her that she was only a distraction from his deep loneliness. He thought constantly of his wife and their impending divorce.

Detective Chief Inspector Thursday was first and foremost a copper, with a copper’s responsibilities. He felt he needed to alert his superior officer to his liaison with a junior colleague before the rumour mill got hold of the story.

“Come in, come in, Thursday,” called Mr Bright across his office when Fred knocked at his open door.  
“Good of you to see me at short notice, Sir,” his inspector replied as he closed the door behind him.  
Mr Bright, trim and sharp as ever, waved Thursday to a seat.  
“Thankyou Sir,” muttered Thursday as he sat down.

Thursday was uncharacteristically nervous. He had thought through carefully what he would say at this meeting, to reveal his relationship with Constable Trewlove. He had to be especially careful with his boss as everyone knew that Mr Bright had taken a shine to the young police constable. He had to get Mr Bright to accept that Thursday was not taking advantage of her, but was trying in a way to offer her his support.

“I’ve something to discuss with you, too,” Mr Bright announced. 

He didn’t seem too happy about it, Thursday noticed. There was a headed letter on his desk which Bright kept glancing at. Thursday couldn’t read it upside down but made out the shield at the top betraying a missive from the Metropolitan Police of London. Bad news from the big city surmised Thursday, deciding to launch into his own concerns before Bright could divert him into some sort of inter-departmental conflict.

“Well, Sir,” started Thursday. “It’s a personal matter.”  
Bright nodded for Thursday to continue, giving him his full attention.  
“My wife has asked for a divorce,” Thursday began.  
Bright’s eyebrows shot up.  
“Good Lord!” he exclaimed and leant forward with concern allowing Thursday to carry on.  
“She’s every reason, Sir. I’ve let her down.”

Thursday looked so dejected that Bright stood and walked to the window to allow his friend to compose himself. At the sideboard, Bright poured them both a large whiskey. Handing his drink to Thursday, Bright said softly, “I understood that Mrs Thursday had moved out. Mrs Bright heard something of the kind at the bridge club. But I had no idea it had gone so far, Fred.”

Thursday nodded wearily.  
“It’s over, Sir.”  
“Reginald!” Bright urged his friend kindly.  
Thursday nodded his thanks at the informality.  
“Is there no hope of reconciliation?”  
“No, Sir…Reginald. I’ve tried but she won’t have me back.”

“I’m sorry to ask but when will this ….divorce…” Bright pronounced the words with some distaste, “come into effect?”  
“Any day now I expect. I’ve signed the papers already.”  
There was a polite pause as Reginald digested this unpalatable news. Both men turned to their drinks, taking a moment to reflect on the conversation.

“I don’t need to tell you Fred that I am most sincerely sorry to hear it,”, said Reginald kindly. “I know the value you put on your family. You will feel this blow most keenly I fear.”  
“Yes Reginald I will.”  
“I won’t ask what prompted the split but if there’s anything I can do, you only have to say,” said his boss with unexpected thoughtfulness.

“Thankyou,” came Fred’s reply, and then more slowly, “There is something you can do, Reginald.”  
“Anything,” said Reginald spreading his hands to emphasise his sincerity which his friend had never doubted.

“It’s a delicate matter,” sighed Fred, hesitant now he had his chance to explain about Trewlove.  
Bright tipped his head to one side, looking for all the world like a sharp beaked bird about to spear his prey.  
“I’ve been fortunate enough to form a close relationship with a young lady,” Fred faltered.  
Bright could see he was nervous so sat quietly waited for the full explanation without commenting.  
“We’ve not exactly started courting,” he offered, “but we’ve become close.”

Bright was shrewd enough to recognise that Fred would not have asked for his help if the young lady in question were not a colleague. Knowing that here was only one young female detective on the staff, Bright had already worked out her identity.  
“Oh Fred,” he sighed, disappointed, and sat back.  
“Reginald…”, Fred tried.  
“No, Fred, no!” Reginald barked. 

Mr Bright slapped his hand angrily on his desktop. He stood up impatiently and strode to the window, taking his glass for a generous top up. He shook his head as if engaged in an inner dialogue.

With his back to Fred, Bright addressed him more formally.  
“You simply cannot conduct a relationship with Constable Trewlove,” he said, his voice icy cold.

Fred shrugged behind his senior officer’s back. Too late for that he thought. But in the interests of keeping the peace, Fred replied anxiously,  
“She’s a grown woman. Knows her own mind,” he defended her.  
“It’s not possible,” snapped Reginald.  
“Shirley is quite capable of deciding for herself,” Fred insisted.  
“Is she? Is she really?” barked Bright spinning abruptly to face him. 

Fred was taken aback, Bright seemed so furious. Bright marched stiffly to his desk and swept up the headed letter he’d been toying with earlier, waving it angrily at Thursday.  
“See this? See this?” Bright snarled.  
“What is it?” Thursday asked hesitantly, unable to make the connection between Bright’s fury and the mysterious letter.

Suddenly all the wind blew out of Bright’s sails. His anger evaporated in a trice. Clutching the letter in his fist, Bright lent heavily of the desk. He blew out a deep sigh.  
“Get yourself another drink, Fred,” he ordered quietly.  
Surprised, Fred stood up to carry out the suggestion. He was used to Mr Bright’s outbursts but this was something altogether different.  
“Sit down Fred,” Bright said with deliberate courtesy.

Apprehensive now, Fred wanted to know what was going on.  
“Reginald?” he prompted.

Reginald realised he could not protect his friend from the inevitable truth. He was torn between a duty of care to the young woman Constable and a real feeling of regret for his dear friend sitting in front of him. 

Bright took a deep breath and faced his friend squarely.  
“I have here a letter from the Metropolitan Police accepting Constable Trewlove as a cadet in their officer training programme,” he said softly then drew breath to wait for Thursday to understand the implications. “It arrived today.”

“What?!” snapped Fred in disbelief, rising to his feet. Was Shirley leaving for London without telling him? Was she going behind his back, manoeuvring her career with Bright’s connivance?

Although Thursday towered over his boss in height, Bright was not intimidated. He continued in a restrained voice looking up at Thursday’s angry frown.

“Shirley brought the letter to me this afternoon to ask my advice. That’s what I wanted to discuss with you,” said Bright carefully.  
“But she never said….” gulped Fred.  
“She was going to talk to you of course. But you see, she had applied to the Met under very different circumstances and I’d written a reference for her.”  
“I didn’t know. She didn’t say.”  
“No, Fred, she wouldn’t have. It was such a slim chance they’d accept them both that they kept it quiet.” When Fred fell heavily back into his seat, Bright continued gently, trying to spare his dear friend any more shocks.

“Constable Trewlove applied to the Met together with Constable Fancy months ago. They hoped for a new start together in London if they were both accepted. Of course Shirley put aside any thoughts of the application once we lost young Fancy. So when the acceptance arrived today, she came to me to talk it over.”

Mention of young George Fancy sobered both older men. They felt they had failed him when he was killed in the line of duty, shot in the back by a corrupt copper. They deeply regretted his involvement in a seedy underworld shootout, and stoically bore the vicious political repercussions which had impacted both their careers harshly.

“So what did you advise?” scowled Fred. “Go to London, I take it?”

Reginald shook his head and smiled sadly.

“My dear friend,” he said lightly. “I told her that it was the career opportunity of a lifetime and she must take it if she truly wanted to be amongst the best officers of her generation. Which I believe she can be. It would mean a fresh start and a chance to put behind her the heartbreak over Fancy.”

Bright waited in case Fred had anything to say.

“But Shirley told me she had lost her heart to another,” Bright continued fondly. “She didn’t tell me who the lucky man was, but now I know. That is her dilemma. Whether to stay for you or pursue her dreams.”

“Oh Christ!” groaned Fred.  
“Quite!” retorted Reginald.

They both took stock. Reginald turned to the window once more, regretting having to have broken such heavy news to his long time friend and dependable ally. It was a relief to have found Fred Thursday was the unnamed lover of Constable Trewlove. Mr Bright was very, very fond of her, too fond really to take a completely objective stance. But if anyone could be trusted to care for the young woman as she deserved then Fred could be counted on to make her happy, to show her real kindness. And it was clear that she felt deeply for Fred. Reginald was secretly a little jealous of phis inspector.

But so long as Chief Superintendent Reginald Bright had a say in the matter he would not condone a senior officer having a personal relationship with his junior, especially not when that junior was still reeling from the death of her partner and the senior was a married, albeit separated, man. 

Fred meanwhile thought only of Shirley. What did she really want? A future in the Met or to stay in Oxford because of their tentative relationship? Was he selfish enough to hold her back? Shirley had a tremendously promising career ahead of her with this opportunity offered by the Met. What could Fred offer her other than a short, uncertain love affair with a man so very much older? He knew the answer already. He would do what he could to persuade her to take up the offer. In a corner of his mind, Fred also felt a relief that they could justifiably end their relationship before it got too serious.

Reginald turned enquiringly to Fred.

Fred’s woebegone face told him everything he needed to know.

“You’re doing the right thing for her, Fred,” Bright said approvingly. “I will of course support her, whatever she decides.”  
“I’ll speak to her tonight,” muttered Fred. “Tell her she should take it.”  
“You’re a good man, Fred,” added Bright sincerely.  
“And Thankyou Reginald,” said Fred, genuinely grateful to his broad minded and fair superior officer, “for your understanding.”

Reginald shook his head.  
“My dear fellow. I’m sorry you had to hear it from me.”  
“Rather you than put her through it,” Fred conceded generously.  
“Tell her I shall be very sorry to see her leave us?” asked Reginald.  
Fred nodded. He looked ready to weep. Reginald grimaced in sympathy.

“Very good,” Bright closed the conversation with his stock reply. “Carry on.”  
“And Fred?” he added as Thursday hauled himself to his feet.  
“Sir?” came the tired response.  
“Her new job starts in just two weeks. Enjoy your remaining time together.” He meant it kindly.

88888

At the pathology lab, DeBryn asked Thursday and Morse to step into his office for a moment. He had some paperwork to hand over to them.

“Here’s the evidence files,” he said laying a pile of brown paper envelopes carefully on his desk. “I’ve completed the forms for each one, but thought it might be better I hand them to you rather than send them over for someone else to book them in.”

“Constable Trewlove usually books in these files,” grumbled Morse.

“Yeeees, quite,” drawled Max. “I’d rather spare her the bother, if you could deal with these yourself. You see one of the files contains my report on Constable Fancy, and I wouldn’t want Shirley to have to come across this out of the blue as it were.”

Morse nodded, seeing at once how considerate Max was being towards their young colleague. It would surely shock her deeply to suddenly be confronted with such an upsetting reminder of her boyfriend’s death.

“She’s leaving,” announced Thursday. Both DeBryn and Morse turned to stare at him in surprise.

“Who?” asked Morse, at the same moment as DeBryn more perceptively sought clarification. “Shirley’s leaving us?”.  
Thursday had gone a ghastly shade of grey and could only nod.  
“A chair please for the Inspector,” snapped DeBryn to Morse who turned to grab the office chair and shove it unceremoniously behind the said Inspector. Thursday sat down heavily with a weary sigh.

Max perched his bottom on the edge of the desk to position himself directly in front of Thursday who looked as for a moment as if he were about to pass out. Max leaned forward with concern to look into his face and gently placed his hand on Thursday’s wrist to take his pulse discreetly, where the big man was gripping the arm of the chair tightly. The light touch brought Thursday back into focus. He leant back and gathered himself.  
“She’s taken a job in London,” Fred sighed. “With the Met.”  
“What? When?” piped up Morse.  
“Oh dear!” commiserated Max.  
“End of next week,” muttered Fred. “Quite prestigious. Fresh start…” he trailed off.

Max patted his hand as the Inspector ran out of explanations then glared at Morse who was evidently about to launch into a barrage of questions.  
“Morse,” said Max firmly. “I wonder if you could fetch a glass of water for the Inspector from next door. He looks like he might need a moment.”

Morse, understanding he had been dismissed, crept from the room. Next door in the tiny office, Morse ran a cool glass of water for his governor then returned to stand and listen outside Max’s door. He could hear Max talking quietly, his tone reassuring and kind, but could not make out the words. Intermittently he heard the low rumble of Thursday’s deep voice. He stood shifting uncomfortably from one foot to the other for some minutes. Finally he knocked on the door and walked back in, offering Thursday the glass of water. Thursday waved it away; he and Max each had an empty whiskey glass in their hands.

“Well,” said Max, deliberately walking back round to the other side of his desk and drawing Morse’s attention away from Thursday. “It appears that our dear friend Shirley will be leaving Oxford for the bright lights of London in the near future. She’s been offered a role with the Metropolitan Police, which is a marvellous opportunity, I’m sure. We must wish her well.”

Morse, stunned, looked from DeBryn to Thursday and back again. DeBryn cocked his head to one side, willing Morse to button his lip. Morse nodded back and leant forward to collect the files that Max had prepared for them.

“I’ll get these booked in,” offered Morse. “Ready, Sir?”  
Thursday looked about done in but hauled himself to his feet. Before he turned to leave, Max stepped round and put out his hand to shake hands with Thursday. Surprised by the gesture, Fred automatically put his hand into Max’s. Max held Thursday’s hand a moment between both his own and looked up into his friend’s face with concern.

“Fred,” he said kindly.  
“Max,” replied Thursday. It was highly unusual for either of them to use first names outside of purely social events. Morse could only look on, realising he had missed an opportunity to support his governor, and feeling he had somehow let him down. Thursday’s shoulders sagged as he preceded Morse out of DeBryn’s office. Morse nodded to DeBryn and shuffled out behind him, his arms full of folders and his sharp mind wondering what all this would mean.


	10. The Leaving Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thursday is the start turn at Shirley’s leaving party

As she walked into the local hall, Shirley blinked in surprise. She was with a couple of girlfriends who were taking her out, they said, for a quiet drink. It was her last night in Oxford, reason for a celebration, for tomorrow she would take the train to London and begin her new life.

But this was no quiet drink with a few pals. The hall was packed with well wishers, here to see her off.

“Surprise!” The girls laughed, dragging off her coat and pulling her to the bar.

Everyone was there it seemed, to celebrate with her, including all her friends and colleagues from her short time in Oxford.

Jim Strange generously stood Shirley and her pals a round of drinks as Morse hovered in the background with his hands plunged firmly in his pockets. The girls from the station typing pool squeezed in against her, laughing and joking, already a few Babychams ahead of her. She noticed most of the officers from the station, some hard to recognise at first in their civvies. Max DeBryn was chatting with a couple of good looking young men, probably students. And there was Mr Bright in an elegant lounge suit talking earnestly to a young constable wearing sharp lapels.

Shirley let herself go along with the rush of excitement, realising how much effort her friends had made to spoil her this one last time. She laughed and thanked everyone, looking round in amazement. The hall was full of people she knew, but there was one face she couldn’t find amongst the many.

“Come on, Shirl’, the band’s been waiting for you!” her pals cried, forcing her to the front next to the small stage. A four piece band had struck up “For She’s A Jolly Good Fellow” and the crowd joined in in good heart.

Shirley was patted and kissed and hugged and squeezed by friends and strangers alike. Her girlfriends had invited along their friends, boyfriends, workmates and half of Oxford it seemed. The atmosphere was buzzing as the lights dimmed and the band played rock and roll to get the youngsters on their feet. 

Shirley was swung from hand to hand, everyone’s darling tonight, and thoroughly enjoying herself despite that one missing face in the crowd. Fred had promised he would meet her that evening “for a drink”. She supposed he had been in on the secret of this party, but she worried that he hadn’t shown up. She longed to see him this one last time before she left in the morning.

The last two weeks had been a rollercoaster of emotions. Fred had been firmly in favour of her taking up her place at the Met, while she wavered between the thrill of an exciting future and the despair of leaving him behind. He had selflessly, consistently advised her to leave Oxford. As compensation for her being emotionally torn, they had spent a few more nights together, sending her into ecstasies and driving him almost to exhaustion. She longed to see him this one last time before she left.

Up at the bar, the young men without girlfriends were steadily downing pints. When Joan Thursday appeared with a couple of her flatmates, she pushed her way to the bar to stand beside Morse. He smiled and greeted her stiffly.

“Good evening, Miss Thursday,” Morse said.  
“Morse,” she nodded tersely, looking around for someone.  
“She’s over there,” Morse offered, pointing out Shirley in the crowd of dancers.  
“Yes I can see that,” rejoined Joan, “it’s Dad I’m looking for.”  
“Everything alright?” asked Morse, picking up on her nervousness.  
Joan stared crossly at Morse for a moment.  
“You know, don’t you? He’s been seen with her. Mum saw them together.”  
Morse shrugged.  
“Not for me to say,” he replied apologetically.  
“He’s making a fool of himself!” she snapped. “Who else knows?”  
Morse shook his head.  
“No-one as far as I know. It’s not common knowledge at the station,” he tried to placate Thursday’s angry daughter.  
“Pah!” she turned away from Morse and bumped straight into Jim Strange, literally banging into the front of his smart evening shirt.  
“Joaney!” he exclaimed happily. “Fancy a drink?”. Joan sighed and nodded, she couldn’t resist his obvious enthusiasm, her annoyance at her father put on hold.

After another hour or so the party was in full swing. The band played alternately rock and roll and more traditional numbers so that everyone, young and old, were up on their feet. Strange had prevailed upon Joan to join in the fun, and she was on the dancefloor laughing with him at his attempt to do the Twist. Doctor DeBryn was holding court at the bar surrounded by a circle of bright young things. Mr Bright had spun several breathless young ladies around the floor in a smart quickstep and was currently entangled with a girl from the typing pool who had long had a crush on their senior officer; he didn’t seem to be objecting.

The lead singer stepped up to the microphone as the music faded to make an announcement.

“Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, for one night only, we have a special guest star all the way from Crowley, Oxford,” there was hum of laughter at this point, “our very own, your very own, Fred Thursday!” this last shouted at full volume and met with a surprised howl from the crowded dancefloor.

Joan looked at Jim in horror. “Dad!” she mouthed at him in the noise. Jim looked back in equal astonishment, then grabbing her hand, forced his considerable bulk to the front of the crowd dragging Joan in his wake.

Morse chatting up a barmaid at the relatively quiet bar spun round in shock and started to push his way forward through the back of the crowd.

DeBryn smiled to himself and muttered under his breath “Well, well, Fred, you sly old fox.”

Mr Bright stepped past his overenthusiastic dance partner to crane his neck to see the stage.

Shirley, in the midst of the sweating, noisy crowd, elbowed her way round to face the band.

All eyes were on the spotlight which lit up the microphone at the front of the stage. And into that spotlight stepped a sleek and shining figure in top hat and tails, elegantly attired and the centre of attention. A hush had fallen across the expectant room.

“Dad!” gasped Joan under her breath.

Fred Thursday, for it was him in all his glory, raised his top hat and greeted his audience.  
“Good evening!” he rumbled in his rich baritone.  
There was a hesitant response as only some people in the surprised audience replied.  
“Good evening!” he called out, much more loudly this time, extending the vowels and drawing out the words.  
The crowd this time shouted back, warming up to this unexpected treat.

In response he spun smartly on his toes and turned his back on his wide eyed audience. He clicked his fingers, one, two, three and the band snapped into life.

Fred spun back to the microphone, a huge grin on his face, and launched into his song right on cue.

“Now folks here’s a story ‘bout Minnie the Moocher,” he crooned, “She was a red-hot hoochie-coocher, She was the roughest, toughest frail, But Minnie had a heart just as big as a whale.”

His gorgeous voice caressed the words, making them sensual and sexy and funny and poignant all at once.

The shock of seeing Fred Thursday up on the stage sent a ripple of reaction through the audience. They could hardly believe that here was good old Fred, father, governor and reliable copper, transformed as if by magic into this fabulous creature. His appearance alone shone with the glamour of the movies, all silken lapels and shining patent leather shoes.

His voice, deep and delicious, thrilled them all, pouring in honey at their ears and warming their hearts. And, wow, what a voice! Those who thought they knew him were amazed at the wonderful singing talent they never knew he had. This was quite a star turn!

Fred leaned back from the microphone to belt out the chorus,  
“Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi!”  
The whole crowd, enchanted by this gorgeous character up on the stage roared back, ”Hi-dee hi-dee hi-dee hi” and on through the whole call and response of the chorus, whipping themselves up into a frenzy.

By the time he reached the end of the very first chorus they had all fallen in love with him. His voice, so rich and powerful, enchanted them. His grin, so rarely seen and yet so attractive, had the female half of the audience melting with longing for him and the male half convinced they were in on some joke with him.

Morse had slunk to the back of the crowd to better see his governor up on the stage. He found Joan standing back in the shadows too.  
“I didn’t know he could sing like this!” he remarked.  
“Nor did I!”, she replied ruefully. “He used to serenade Mum sometimes, but she always shushed him”.  
“He must have been practising with the band,” added Morse, trying to work out how his boss had recently become so proficient a singer.  
“Mmmm,” she agreed non-commitally.  
“He’s really very good,” begrudged Morse.  
“Yes, he is isn’t he?”, she laughed. “Although I think I know why he’s putting on such a brilliant performance.”  
Joan nodded in the direction of Shirley Trewlove, easy to find in the crowd just by following Fred’s constant gaze.

Morse huffed and shrugged.  
“It’ll all be over tomorrow,” he tried to console Joan.  
Joan turned and looked at him keenly.  
“I didn’t know,” she said. “I really didn’t know how much he cared for her. It must break his heart that she’s leaving.”  
“Well,” said Morse, “he’s putting a brave face on it.”

They both turned to look again at Fred Thursday up on the stage, at once feeling both proud and protective of their respective father and governor.  
“You will keep an eye on him, won’t you?” she urged Morse. “After she’s gone.”  
Morse nodded.  
“Of course,” he muttered, offended to have been asked. He thought it obvious he would try to support the man who had offered him so much over the years.

“You too?” he pressed Joan.  
She considered this for a less than a moment.  
“Of course,” she echoed. “He’s my Dad.”  
She took Morse by the arm and they plunged back into the press of people.

Fred finished the song as the whole audience joined in to exclaim “Poor Min, poor Min, poor Min!” with him. The applause was frantic. Fred laughed back at them and waved in thanks looking like he was truly at home on the stage. Eventually he had to hush them to make the next announcement.

“Well good evening, folks!” he drawled softly, saving his voice for the next song.

“We’re all here tonight to say goodbye and good luck to one very lovely lady,” he indicated to Shirley in the crowd with a theatrical sweep of his arm. The people around her pushed back a little to let Shirley be seen so that she ended up standing alone in the small space they’d made for her. 

“Constable Trewlove,” he said emphasising her title, “is sadly leaving us,”

There was a cry of “Shame, shame!” from the back allowing Fred just time enough to fix his rigid smile in place despite the sorrow in his heart.

“But she is going on to great things in London,” he cried, throwing up his hands to orchestrate the crowd’s loud cheer.

“And we shall all miss her,” he continued, waving downwards to encourage a low moan of distress from the floor.

“But we are her tonight to send her off with all our love and support and best wishes for a bright and exciting future!”. Another lift of his arms brought such an enthusiastic cry from so many voices that he could not continue to be heard.

Shirley turned at last to the stage, and looking up at Fred adoringly, blew him a kiss. He caught it and blew one back. The crowd shouted their approval and pressed back round her again.

Fred held his top hat over his heart and stared down at his young lover. He knew he could not declare his true feelings for her, not here, not now, not ever. His heart was breaking even as he grinned through clenched teeth.

“This one’s for you, Sweetheart,” he whispered into the microphone. Without taking his eyes off her, he snapped his fingers along with the band’s introduction and began to croon softly.  
“Every time I look into your lovely eyes,  
I see a love that money just can't buy  
One look from you, I drift away  
I pray that you are here to stay.”*

Doing a fine impression of Roy Orbison, Fred meant those words from the bottom of his heart. He faltered with emotion only once but the flutter in his voice was drowned as the crowd cried out the response to the chorus,  
“Anything you want,” he purred. “You got it!” they shouted back.  
“Anything you need,” his voice quivered. “You got it!” they shouted again.  
“Anything at all,” Fred promised. “You got it!” they replied.  
“Baaa-aaaaby!” 

Fred somehow managed to keep singing, his voice low and smoky, tears in his eyes, his poor heart aching to reach out and hold the young woman in front of him. Their world had narrowed to one another, despite the noisy crowd around her, and he fixed his attention on her to convince her that this song expressed his own true devotion. She nodded back at him. She understood.

Fred sang on, in his element, drawing his audience in. They leaned forward, crushed together, pressing up against the stage, looking up at him entranced. But he only had eyes for one person in the crowd. He sang his heart out for Shirley, his sweetheart, and never took his eyes off her.

The applause at the end of his song was even louder than before. There were cries all round of “More, more!”. Fred lent backwards, roaring with laughter at their appreciation. He had to laugh or else he’d be in tears. He was choking back his emotion when he announced his next song.

“Here’s one last song from me, for you, Sweetheart,” he said smoothly, the lush tones of his wonderful voice now thoroughly warmed up.

He launched into,  
“Pretty woman, walkin' down the street,  
Pretty woman the kind I like to meet,  
Pretty woman I don't believe you, you're not the truth,  
No one could look as good as you,” and then a drop in pitch to the darkest register of his voice “Mercy!” he begged.

By now the youngsters were all dancing, dragging everyone onto the dancefloor no matter who they were or what their excuses. Fred sang on in a loving glow that radiated out towards his darling girl. He felt himself to be in love at this moment, with her or with the idea of her, he wasn’t sure, but the feeling filled the hole in his chest that had been there since his wife had walked out on him. 

He didn’t want the song to end, the moment so exquisitely satisfying that he repeated the last verse to the band’s surprise. He knew already that once the spell was broken, he would be poor old Fred Thursday once more, lonely old bugger kicking round an empty house all by himself. Shirley would be gone, off to London to begin another life, leaving him behind to nurse his aching heart.

When he did finish the song, with a flourish on the last line, he bowed deeply to his clapping fans and turned around to thank the band. He used the moment to wipe his eyes before plunging down the steps from the stage onto the dancefloor. Fred was met with a wave of backslapping and congratulations, several young women trying to kiss him on the cheek, and any number of men jostling to shake his hand.

Fred smiled and laughed and was hugged and kissed but never took his eyes from Shirley’s face. She stood back from the knot of people around him, waiting for him to make his way slowly to her. He waded good naturedly through the throng until he stood in front of her. The band had by now struck up a slow number so he held out his arms and offered himself to her one last time. She sank against his shoulder, his arm around her waist to hold her close and their hands clasped together on his breast. Fred was in torment; all at once so happy to be with her, yet knowing it was for the last time. 

He decided with a great effort of will to put aside all thoughts of her leaving and to enjoy the moment for what it was, this caring young woman in his arms who, in her own way, had loved him for a while.

Much later that evening, the party wound up. The band played their last song, thanked their audience and the lights came on. Jim Strange offered to walk Joan back to her digs and they set off, comfortably chatting with their heads together, her flatmates trotting along behind them. Morse took home the barmaid although he couldn’t remember her name. DeBryn had disappeared to a college party with a couple of young student types. Mr Bright set off to his club to stand a round of late drinks with three young women in tow. 

Fred and Shirley had left before the end, slipping away unnoticed into the still Oxford night. They walked arm in arm, slowly, savouring every last moment together. At her front door, Fred stepped back, determined to make a clean break of it. Tomorrow she would be on the coach to London and out of his life.

“Well,” he sighed. “Goodnight. I hope you’ve had a good evening?”  
“Come in,” she said, allowing no argument.  
“Shirley!”, he tried, rocking back on his heels with indecision.  
“One night. That’s all we’ve got left. Please?” she insisted. She reached out and took a handful of the front of his coat, and tugged at him.

Fred couldn’t resist her. He gave in at once. He tipped his chin towards the door in agreement and she pulled him in with her.

That night, Fred made love to Shirley to the very best of his considerable ability. As soon as they were inside her flat he kissed her without speaking, and slowly stripped off both her clothes and his own. He laid her on the bed and kissed every inch of her body, as if memorising it. He gradually drove her into the heights of desire by licking and touching and kissing and stroking her until she begged him to finish it. He put aside his own burning need, all his attention on making her remember this night forever. 

When he finally entered her, she was gasping for relief, and he drove her slowly to the edge of her climax and back down before she could complete, over and over while she cried out in ecstasy. Eventually he could not hold back any longer and he thrust hard and deep while she called his name, until at last she came in tears against his chest.

After Shirley fell into a very satisfied sleep in his arms, Fred held her throughout the night. When only a few hours later, a pale dawn started to lighten the room, she woke up and demanded they make love again while she was half asleep and horny as hell. 

Physically and emotionally exhausted, Fred then got up and dressed once more in his tails from the night before. He kissed her forehead while she curled up in bed and let himself out after promising to see her off at the coach station later that morning.

Back home Fred just had time to wash and shave and to put on a more sober set of everyday clothes, before setting off back for the centre of town.

He found Shirley waiting nervously by the London coach. Her two best friends had called at her flat to walk her to the coach station to see her off. Jim Strange was there, and Morse. Max had brought her a packed lunch for the trip in case she hadn’t had breakfast. Her cases were loaded on board and she caught hold of each of her friends, kissing everyone in turn, laughing through her tears. She was excited to be on her way at last, but distraught to be leaving her friends.

As she let go of Morse, the last and most reluctant to be kissed goodbye, she looked over his shoulder and saw Fred waiting for her. Speechless, she stepped up to him and wound her arms around his neck. He bent low to whisper his goodbyes into her ear but was reluctant to make a scene here in public, for her sake as well as his own.

“Oh for goodness sake, just kiss her!” hissed Max, turning his back on the couple and engaging the others in a spurious conversation to distract them. Politely everyone averted their eyes as Fred kissed his girl longingly for the last time.

When Shirley stepped aboard the coach she was genuinely crying. As were her girlfriends, one each side of Jim who was supporting them robustly. She waved as the coach pulled away. They waved until it was out of sight. Max blew his nose noisily in a monogrammed hanky. He took Thursday by the elbow and steered him away from the others, giving Fred time to wipe away his tears on his own large handkerchief.

“I’ve a roast in the oven at home you’re welcome to share,” Max offered.

Fred nodded. He was too upset to make up his own mind what to do next. Max steered him gently towards the privacy of his home, knowing Fred would need time to recover from this final goodbye. 

Morse held back, watching them go. It was not in his nature to push himself forward in times of high emotion. He regretted that it was not him who had come to Thursday’s aid this time, but promised himself that he would be there for his governor at every opportunity in the future.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Yes I know Rob Orbison’s song “You Got It” wasn’t released until 1989, but, hey, I love to hear this song in Fred’s voice!


	11. Fred’s Confession

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fred confesses and is forgiven

Thursday trudged home after work towards his lonely, empty house. It was a couple of weeks since Trewlove had left for London to take on her new job, start her new life, to put behind her the sorrows she’d endured in Oxford. At first she had phoned from the call box at her digs nearly every night, to talk over the day’s events, and ask his advice. As the days slipped by he could hear the excitement in her voice at the new challenges she took on and mastered, the growing confidence and enjoyment she felt. 

Only two days since, he had advised her not to ring him again unless she needed to.

“Don’t you want to talk to me any more?” Shirley had asked, hurt by his suggestion.  
“You’ll do just fine without me,” he answered gruffly, a dull pain in his guts proving that the reverse would not be true.

“But I thought you could come and visit me…” she tried.  
“No!” Thursday had to stand firm on this. “You’re better off making a fresh start. You’re where you should be, amongst colleagues of your own age. You’ve settled in, and you should concentrate on your new life. I’m just a distraction back here.”

It was killing him to push her away like this but it was for her own good, no matter how much it hurt him.

There was a long silence as she thought it over. Bravely she took him at his word.

“You’re right,” she allowed. “You’re always right.”  
“Only when it comes to you,” he replied softly. He heard a quiet huff of a laugh at the other end of the line.  
“I’ll miss you,” she sighed.

“You’ll be fine,” he croaked, regretting having to give this advice to her. But she had to fly free, make her own way, without him dragging her back. He rubbed away a tear with the heel of his hand.

“Fred…” she started, unable to make the final break.  
“Well then,” he rejoined sadly. “You’ve got to look to the future, Sweetheart,” he said before she could respond.

There was a noise from her end but no words.

“You’ve been everything I could have wished for. Goodnight, Sweetheart, and thankyou for everthing,” he whispered, emphasising the past tense.  
“Goodnight darling,” she stuttered. He could hear her crying now.   
“Goodnight,” he said again and put down the phone.

The dull ache of giving her up stayed with him. All through the next few days at work, trying to occupy his thoughts with details of cases, Thursday struggled on, trying not to think of her. And of course he thought of Trewlove constantly. Her smile, her slender hand in his, her mocking grin when she was in the right, her honesty and, god help him, her young and lovely body wrapped round his. 

He realised that their affair had been just that, a brief fling that made him feel alive and young again, instead of facing up to the bitterness and loss of his pending divorce. It was his wife he loved, still, and Trewlove had only been a temporary patch over that sore point that galled him constantly.

He was distracted and weary, sick at heart and tired of pretending otherwise.

That night as he reached his front door he fumbled for his key to let himself in.  
He no longer called out “Home” as he had used to do, since there was no one there anymore to reply.   
He lifted his hat from his head and froze in mid air as he heard a little voice call “That you, Fred?”  
“Win!” he gasped, jolted back into movement.

He strode into the front room where his wife was perched on the sofa.  
Amazed to see her, Fred could only stare. They had been estranged for months, with his wife staying at her sister’s place. In recent weeks they had hardly even spoken on the phone as Win refused to talk to him although he rang every day to ask for her.

“I thought I’d call in,” she offered shyly. “See how you are.”  
“You alright?” he demanded, concerned she’d turned up unannounced. “What’s wrong?”  
“Everthing’s wrong, Fred,” she gulped. “Between us. I thought we could talk it over. Sort it out?”

Fred collapsed onto the sofa beside her as his legs gave way, the rush of emotion unmanning him. His breath caught in his throat as he struggled to understand her.

“You want to sort this out? Between us, you mean?” he growled, unsure if he had heard her right.  
“Yes, love,” she insisted. “It’s gone too far. I never meant to stay away so long. Can’t we make it up?”

“But the divorce papers you sent. I signed them. I thought that’s what you wanted?” he frowned, trying to catch up with her.

Fred was confused, but saw a glimmer of hope that the trouble between them might be resolved, that his darling wife might just forgive him, that his world, which had been rocked to its very core, might just be righted again. He clung onto this hope.

“That was a mistake. I’m sorry,” she said, tears in her trembling voice. “I just want us to be back to how we used to be.”

Fred put his arm around her shoulder and pulled her close. He kissed the top of her head. God knows, he wanted nothing more than that. But he had to tell her about Trewlove, before he could hope to make things up to Win.

“There’s nothing I want more in all this world than to have you back here beside me,” he began slowly, steeling himself to tell his wife of his recent affair. “But there’s something I have to tell you…”

The opportunity to reclaim his loving wife was there, right in front of him, and yet, being an honourable man, he knew he had to tell her the truth even though it meant he risked losing her forever. 

He took a deep breath. He ignored his shredded nerves and chose to speak out, tell the truth and shame the devil.

“There was someone else…” he began apologetically. 

He could not continue, his whole world was held in the balance at that moment. His past, his marriage, wife and family, his reputation, all that he had ever wanted and had worked all his life to build and protect, weighed up against a brief love affair. His wounded heart had suffered the terrible guilt of his own stupidity at driving away his beloved wife in the first place, then sunk further into self pity by having a fling with a young colleague. He could not take any more pain. He knew if Win rejected him now it would finish him. 

And so he sat, unable to carry on, wishing that time itself would stand still and just allow him to hold his wife and to hope.

“I know, love,” Win said softly.

He looked at her, astonished.

“You know?” he cried in surprise. “Who told you?”

“No one told me. I have eyes!” she huffed. “I saw you with her, remember? I saw how you looked at her. And I thought I’d lost you.” Win was crying a little, dabbing at her eyes.

Fred fished out a clean handkerchief and offered it to her wordlessly.

“What are you doing here, then?” he asked gently, daring to hope that if Win knew about Trewlove, she might just have forgiven him already.

“To make it right between us,” Win said, stating the obvious. “When I saw you with her, I couldn’t bear it, Fred. It was that made me realise, I just wanted you back.”

The dreadful guilt of having cheated on Win would burden him forever. He hadn’t intended for Win to ever find out, but she knew him better than anyone and had read his feelings when she saw him with Trewlove. The irony of his unfaithfulness being the spur to Win’s forgiveness was not lost on Fred.

“Even though…”  
“Even though you’ve been running around making a fool of yourself!” she snapped.

“Oh God, Win, I’m sorry,” rushed out Fred. “I never meant…”. 

All the years of love for Win rose up and overwhelmed him. All the hurt he’d caused her, and the despair of losing her rocked him to the bottom of his heart. The sheer terror of maybe losing her all over again stunned him. He lifted his arm from round her shoulders and buried his face in his hands.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m so, so sorry!” was all he could manage.

“Oh Fred,” she said quietly, “We’ll sort it out.”

“Don’t leave me, Win,” he blurted. “I can’t do without you. Not anymore.” He was crying now, for his damaged marriage, out of self pity and disgust at his recent behaviour, but mostly because he simply could not take any more.

And Win forgave him. She already had.

Years of loving marriage and sharing their happiness as well as their burdens had convinced her that Fred Thursday was the only man for her. That without him she was a poor shadow of herself. It had taken the burst of jealousy and anger when she saw how devotedly he had looked at that young girl to force Win to confront her own feelings for her husband. That no matter what, it was worth fighting to get him back. 

And it cut her deeply to see him weep. She’d only ever seen him cry like this when their kids were born.

“You liked that girl, didn’t you?” she asked gently, trying to understand.

He nodded, stifling his tears and attempting to face up to his mistakes.

“You liked her a lot?”

He nodded again, ruefully admitting his stupidity to his beloved wife.

“And it’s over now she’s gone?”

“Yes,” he mumbled. “It’s all over.”

“Well then,” she soothed. “We’d better sort ourselves out, hadn’t we, if we’re going to make a go of it?”

Gratefully Fred clutched his wife’s hands in his. She reached up with his handkerchief to wipe away his tears. He blinked fiercely to clear his eyes, and tried to pull himself together. His slow, hopeful smile melted Win’s heart. All at once her anger at him was put aside, she just wanted to comfort her lover, her husband, her best friend. 

Win reached up as Fred leaned down to put his head on her shoulder. She ran her fingers through his thick hair, an old, intimate gesture that had always soothed him in times of trouble. They sat quietly, clinging to one another, facing the task of repairing their damaged marriage, but at least they were facing it together.

“Oh, Win,” he finally admitted what they both knew to be true, “I’ve never stopped loving you.”  
“I know, love,” she whispered, “I know.”

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> I love the Endeavour tv series, and especially the complex character Fred Thursday, so I wanted to give him a good time here!  
And Shirley Trewlove deserves some comfort after her boyfriend George Fancy was killed so shockingly, so I put the two of them together and let them do the rest!
> 
> Please leave comments, I’d love to know what you think??!!


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